


Discord

by WorldsFool



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BDSM, Blasphemous Use Of Loopholes, Body Worship, Daddy Kink, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Praise Kink, Request Fill, Sensory Deprivation, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorldsFool/pseuds/WorldsFool
Summary: A series of short smuppets courtesy of the Far Cry Discord. Request and filled.





	1. Jacob Seed - Support the Troops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @scalettaseed Dep/Jacob, mutual masturbation. Soft body worship.

All things considered it had been a peaceful day. It was that wonderful time of summer were people gathered together and celebrated, either amongst themselves or with others. All of Hope County could afford this one day for themselves and so could the Seeds as well.

Jacob had taken you to the cabin, your homestead. The whole evening had been leading up to this and seriously, when were the two of you actually going to have a full day to yourselves again? To his surprise, what he had planned to be a heated exchange was turned to your favor as you gently corralled him into the bedroom and pushed him back onto the bed, his eyebrows quirked in an curious and playful manner. 

"What are you thinking, Sweets?" You simply smile, holding a finger up your lips in a hush, like it was a secret you couldn’t tell. He rolls his shoulders in response.

"Well, by all means." He smirks, stretching his legs out and allowing you to drag his boots off before straddling his lap.

You wouldn’t call it a plan exactly but you knew what you wanted to do and hopefully as the night went on he would continue to be compliant. You start slow, gently pushing your hands through his soft red hair and running your nails along his scalp. The effect is instant, a sigh of relief grumbles past his lips as you massage the tension from his head, peck his forehead and proceed to run your lips over each of his cheeks. You kiss his nose, his brows, you press a soft kiss against his lips with a purr as he returns the gesture.

You move your hands down his shoulders, squeezing and digging your thumbs in none to gently, as the only way to get out his knots is with some force. He is tense, always is at the end of the day and you feel his tension slowly bleed out under your fingers.

Jacob breaks the kiss to bury his head into the crook of your neck, groaning while he rolls his shoulders, as if for the first time. You cast your touch downward each of his arms with your nails outstretched, simply grazing against his skin, stopping at his scars to likely circle them before moving on. Goosebumps form in your wake, as red pressure lines are left behind on his freckled skin. You bury your own nose into the crook of his neck to give it a kiss and give his throat a gentle lap with your tongue nibbling softly, almost nursing like a puppy.

You strip him of his shirt, in no hurry to remove his clothes as you dedicate this moment to making him as relaxed as possible. He has been working hard and you have to give even the biggest of dogs a treat once in a while...

A small push to his chest has him leaning back against the bed frame, a sigh blowing out his nose and stormy blue eyes nearly disappearing under half-closed eyelids. He looks as though he could fall asleep and while you would be flattered that your soft touches could get him a goods night rest, that is not what you have in mind.

You move down his chest, fingers tangling in his coarse chest hair and scratching softly. The chemical burns that mare his skin did not miss his torso and his left nipple is scared-sensitive. You brush your lips across it before latching on, preening at the sound of his off-guard moan.

Jacob moves to run one of his hands through your hair, lightly pulling on the strands playfully.

"What has gotten into you today?" He grumbles, opening one eye and smiling. It's a kind of smile that is rarely seen by the world and rarely seen by anyone who isn't either blood or loved. It makes his eyes twinkle, his cheeks pull and dust with pink. You release his nipple with a smile, pressing your cheek to his chest and look up at him with doe eyes.

"Just wanna make you feel good." He huffs, taking you by one of your hands and lowering it down to grasp at the bulging forming at his crotch.

"Doing a hell of a job.” You blush as you feel his cock throb underneath the fabric of his jeans. “Come on, let’s get this show on the road." You don’t move, a pout forming on your mouth that he ponders before sighing in defeat. He rolls his eyes and let’s your hand go to pull his arms behind his head, 

“Alright then, continue with what you got going on."

You grin, almost all teeth and then resume by tracing the tip of your nails down over his stomach. His gut clenches from contact and you see him chew the inside of his cheek in effort to stifle a sound. 

A little known fact that Jacob Seed is ticklish. Nobody knows this one weakness but you. Not even his brothers. It’s something only you are privy to. You begins to trace your lips down his abdomen, latching onto one of the prominent pack muscles and nipping with your canines. You give him one good squeeze under your hand before retreating from him entirely. His eyes had almost closed again, now wide open as you remove yourself from his body. He settles once more as you merely remove your jeans and underwear, slipping a hand between your legs to let your wet cunt breath. You’re as excited as he was to keep moving.

You saddle back atop him again, fingers deftly attacking his belt, still at a calm and slow pace. He obviously wants you to go faster, shifting his hips eagerly to help you lower his pants until you pull them completely off. As you remove his jeans you continue from his feet, earning a frustrated groan, given that he had fully expected you to pick up right where you left off. You laugh at his eagerness and run a finger up the full pad of his foot, smiling as his knee jerks from the teased cluster of nerves in his arch.

You do the same for his other foot before grasp his ankles and giving them a firm roll. You run your hands up his legs, cupping his calves and squeezing, going on further up. Tapping your fingers behind his knees gently, you smile as he lets out another soft sigh of relaxation. You move up to his thighs, grabbing him by the hip and digging your thumbs into his hip bones. He groans, borderline whines, as you lower your lips to place a single kiss to the top of his happy trail.

"Killin' me, smalls."

You outright laugh, looking up at him to see his playful face full of appreciation if not a bit of impatience. His gaze, unguarded and softened. It makes your gut flutter when he looks at you like that, often times when you are unaware as you help around the outpost, whether it be counting bullet or taking notes. 

You finally throw him the bone, teasing your fingers over the elastic waistband of his briefs. He huffs, breath starting to get a little excited. Your glad he elected today to wear underwear, as you always gain a sense of pride when his hot cock springs loose and baps you gently across your face.

His cock head at perfect level with your lips, you once again bypass. Biting your lips to keep from laughing as you hear the bedside table shake from them slam of Jacob bringing his fist down against it. He has his head leaned back, throat flexing as he tries to hold back what could possibly be a scream of anguish, definitely a few choice words. But, he sees what your trying to do; a moment of worship, it’s why he doesn’t force your head or hand. He never does, always letting you set the pace no matter the mood.

You let the shaft of his dick glide against your cheek as you all but nuzzle his member, burying your nose into his pubic hair and maybe sniffing at his natural musk. You cup his thighs and pulls them apart, smiling to yourself as he practically strikes a pose while opening his legs at the mere brush of your hands.

You lower your mouth to his balls and give each one a gently kiss and single lap of your tongue before finally, and gracefully…

Rerouting yourself to sit upwards and smile at him. He is biting his lip but remarkably patient.

You tilt your head at him, gesturing to his shaft and cupping his balls to give them a nice roll. He caves in and releases a whimper, as close to one as you can get from him, as you graduate to stroking his member at a languid pace.

"Alright, mercy. Please. Come on, Sweets. Please." He murmurs under his panting breath, gently grinding up into your hand and attempting to set a faster pace but you carry with his hips, keeping your even tempo. “Whatever you want. Just do something.”

You lick your lips and tap the head of his cock just once, rubbing your index finger alongside and pulling his uncircumcised skin. You take a single lap at the precum beading at the head.

"Eat me out while I suck you off."

He practically pats his lap for you to get into place. You meet his proud smirk and turn, scooching up backwards and not missing the chance to graze his dick with your cunt, laughing as he groans and grabs at your thighs. You prompt yourself with your elbows at his hips, allowing him to use your legs as handlebars for his to curl forward and let his mouth seek out your sopping cunt.

Your reaction is an instant moan as he gets straight to business and attacks your lips with harsh strokes from his tongue.

As he treats your pussy like a meal at Thanksgiving, you drop to his dick and finally take him into your mouth. You shudder as his appreciative groan rattles through you, his beard hair scratching against your inner thighs.

You swallow around the head of his cock, humming out of the salty taste from his skin. He keeps himself clean but it had been a hot day and the damp is rank with Jacobs own natural musk. You had an acquired taste for the scent and bury him deeper into your mouth for more of it.

Jacob is by no means, a small man. He is well endowed and big enough to make your jaw ache as you do your best to keep your teeth off of him. Not that he doesn't enjoy a bit of teeth, but this was meant to be a gentle exchange and…

And...

And dammit if he isn't making that difficult. His tongue strokes you from your clit to your taint, causing your toes to curl and hips to drive back into his mouth for more. You get your just deserves for teasing him as much as you did, wrapping your arms around his legs and nearly driving your nails into his skin as he blows a gentle breath of air on your cunt. Your legs shake from chill and moan as you attempt to fit more of him in your mouth for revenge.

He taunts and teases you a bit more before you get a grip on his shaft and give him a good squeeze in warning and demand. His small grunt and the outright dive of his tongue between your folds acknowledges...the..m-message received.

You pop off his dick, like the sound of a wine bottle cork being pulled. You pant hot air against his cock and carefully pull down his foreskin before swirling your tongue around the head of his prick, cheering in inner victory as he ducks back himself to groan. His hips thrust up just enough to force his cockhead back between your lips allowing you to wrap your hand around what’s left of him you cannot swallow and get to work.

Likewise on his end, his tongue spears you with precision, wagging inside of your cunt and pressing against your walls with the dexterity of a wiggling snake. You begin to mimic him, bobbing your hips gently, rocking into his mouth as he further spreads his legs, allowing you more elbow room to attempt to deep throat him. 

Forcing your throat muscles to relax as best they can, you manage to get far enough just to feel his pubic hair brush against the very tip of your nose before the burn becomes too great and tears spring into your eyes. But god does it feels so good, the way his tongue thrusts in and out of you and then licks gently up before diving back in. He eats pussy like an animal, a true mess. Spit and drool running down his chin but you’re no better as your throat contracts with a swallow around his girth.

He moans, vibrations quivering as his hips buck into your mouth, sending that last inch down your throat. You choke with a gag and hold him as best as you can before coming off with another pop and wheeze, coughing into the crook of your elbow. You ignore his concern of "Alright?" and stroke him, hand wet with both your own spit and his still leaking tip.

You huff, forcing yourself back to make him eat more of you.

"S'rude...Ah...T...To talk...With your mouth full." You grumble and grunt as he laughs into your folds and drops one of your legs to free up a hand and dive it underneath, thumbing that little pad of pleasure that has your hips nearly zipping away.

Your teeth clack together and nails dig into the flesh of his legs as you feel your insides do a flip. At the coming climax you quickly dive back down and continue sucking him off, no longer the slow and steady race it once was now, it’s a barrel towards the finish line. As his thumb continues to swipe the trigger button, your legs start to quake and hips shift, unable to keep still. The tears on the corner of your eyes are more from pleasure now than they are strain but now you are making it your mission to outlast him.

And you do. His hips ungulate into a roll, mouth coming off of you to growl and groan, wheezing roughly with the tone of a gruff grizzly. His thumb still on your clit, his pumps two fingers into you, curling them rapidly as he swipes left and right, up and down, rolling the nub over and over.

"Shit...Are you...F-ffuck!!" He stills almost dropping his hand but you reach behind and grab him, forcing your head as deep down as you can and humping back onto his hand as you take over his strokes, feeling your climax creeping up close and chasing after it.

"Fuck! Baby, I'm coming!"

You hum one more time. 'Give it to me.' With his dick in your mouth and groan as he tightens his hold around one of your legs, holding it like a anchor as his teeth sink into your inner thigh. You suck, once, twice, hard before the salty taste of his cum floods down your throat and nearly out your nose.

You pull off with a swallowed scream as your legs tremble, finally reaching your limit. Jacob does you right and slides three fingers into your folds, deep as he can with only your juices for lube and finally you constrict, body going tight and taut before dropping lax.

As you both lay in the afterglow of a hard, tender love and fuck Jacob pats you once on the ass. You turn over off of him, shakily crawling up the bed to reach his outstretched arms and bury yourself into his chest. He kisses you with his beard still wet with your juices and you share in the taste that is both him and you.

Your inner thigh smarts with a crescent badge of honor, compliments of his sharp teeth and crest of pleasure. His inner thigh glistens with claw marks from a cat in heat.

"Wh-Where did all that come from?" He asks, still trying to catch his breath.

You hum, listening to his rapid heart beat trying to settle.

"4th of July, gotta support my troops, don't I?" You smile, nuzzling his pec. "Can I get a hoo-rah?"

He laughs one of those deep disbelieving laughs, like he can't even fathom how he managed to lay a catch like you.

"Hoo-Rah."


	2. Sharky Boshaw - The Big Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adelaide Drubman's Ass - How about a reader with a size kink and a touch starved Sharky?

Sharky Boshaw is a nice man, a very kind a considerate fellow who runs his mouth a little too often and smells a little too strongly of kerosene. He keeps firecrackers in his pockets and more than three zippo lighters on hand; one, you had the pleasure of learning was in his left shoe. He is kind by nature, proclaims that his 'daddy taught him manners' and always says his please and thank you's when in conversation.

He's warm blooded, not that he's quick to temper but that he practically radiates heat like a furnace and in Hope County Montana, that can be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because during the winter he is the best to snuggle with. A curse because much like right now during the summer, he sweats like a pig in the heat. Not even the AC can help prevent the tacky build up forming on the sweat-slick skin of his forehead as you press him back against the bed.

You made it very clear throughout the day that you wanted to get in bed with him, but much like his personality lately he’s being very uncharacteristic about it.

"You're serious about this...Like, you're not fucking with me right now, right?"

You hum in affirmation, kissing his cheek before claiming his lips. It's a sweet little peck that has his shaking hands grab at your shoulders and pull you away. You frown at the uncertainty swimming in his blue eyes.

He licks his lips, thumbs brushing back and forth over your tattooed skin as you had discarded your top the second you were able to get him into the bedroom.

"Look here, Cherrybomb." He takes a deep breath and gestures to...all of him. "I may talk big game about swimming in pussy but I wasn't kidding about that dry streak." He shuffles on the bed in an effort to get comfortable as you play with the string of his hoodie.

"And as flattered as I am that you would fall for the flattering figure of Charlemagne, you are like...my only friend."

You see where he's going with this, the uncertain touches and how he's been holding himself back lately in conversations; dirty jokes cut off before the punch line, comments kept to himself when you manage to land a good shot. Hell, he even hesitates to touch you now, even just to help you out of the truck. Everything that has led up to this point has been because you’ve initiated it and while he had no problem inviting you into his trailer-the 'Boshaw Manor,' as he calls it, he quickly turned into an unconfident teenager, twiddling his thumbs and looking away.

"Sharky-" He cuts you off with a raise of his hand.

"No, no. Hear me out. You are like-the prettiest girl I've ever had the pleasure of meeting, Cherry. A-grade, spank bank material." He grumbles after having said that and rubs the back of his neck before knocking off his hat and scratching his head, exasperated.

"See! Look, see! You got me all flustered and second guessing myself. I know I may not have the best filter between my brain and my mouth but you got me worried I'm gonna say something out of line and then you're gonna leave." You open your mouth to interject that you would never but he cuts you off again.

"I know! I know, we're good friends and all and I know you won't do that but...I've had people ditch me for less. I don't want for us to just fuck and suddenly everything's changed and I'm one slip up away from losing the best thing I've had in like...Fuck...A long time." He says, directly avoiding eye contact. His tone goes soft, a crack of hopelessness in his voice that has you cupping him by his ears and forcing him to look at you. Your expression may be a little less than friendly and cause him to flinch but he holds strong and merely bites his lip in preparation for the obvious lecture coming his way.

"Now you listen here Charlemagne Victor Boshaw." You don't miss the small shudder that runs down his back from your pronunciation of his full name. He may only have won that name in a bet but when it's you saying it, it seems to light a fire in his belly.

"You are my best friend. Like, the one silver lining in this whole mess of Hope County. You are funny, you are witty, and you're smart-god, you're so fucking smart." He rolls his eyes.

"Not that smart."

"Shark, you made a tear gas bomb with a pepper, a bottle, vinegar and baking soda. You give MacGyver a run for his goddamn money." He huffed a laugh that has you give him a warm smile.

"You listen to me when I need an ear. You take goddamn bullets for me when I'm not lookin. What in the world makes you think a tumble in the sheets is gonna change all that?" He mutters nonsense under his breath before shrugging his shoulders.

"The way I see it right now, the only way for us to go from here is up. I mean, unless you suddenly feel like marrying me, this is the next step and...you do wanna do this don't ya?" He quickly nods his head, hat flying off to your amusement as he grabs at your hips and draws you close.

"Yeah, fuck yeah. Of course I do, I just..." You kiss his chapped lips before he can start to worry them. He returns the gesture with a soft sound, squeezing your hip gently in thanks and encouragement for more. As you break apart he rest his forehead against yours and takes a breath.

When no words come out you roll your eyes.

"Oh my god, just say you love me you big doof." And he laughs, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you. He smells like a damn gas station but there's that weird umami of grape and the color purple that you've come to like.

"I love ya, cherry." You smile, nuzzling him and giving him a single big squeeze in return of the hug.

"I love you too." You then ruck up his hoodie by forcing your hands under his shirt and tickling his stomach. "Now, take off your damn clothes and fuck me-make love to me. Either one."

He laughs, hollers in newfound excitement as he sheds off his shirt and jacket before tossing it somewhere in the room. You grin and run your fingers over the hairy beer belly he has, a small little muffin top over his jeans that you can't help but poke. He gaffs, as though offended and attempts to slap your hands away.

"Don't poke my chub."

"I like your chub." You state, situating yourself downward and kissing just above his happy trail, giving him another poke. "Dis is some good chub." He practically giggles, setting a hand on your head as you begin to unfasten his belt.

Finally getting his belt undone and pulled through its loops, you throw it over your shoulder, grimacing as you heard a clatter of something falling and break behind you. Sharky shakes his head, keeping you attention on task.

"It's just my GED certificate, don't worry bout it." You snark, choke on a laugh while pulling at his pants. He briefly arches off the mattress in order for you to pull it over the globes of his ass.

"It's just my signed and framed poster of Stormy Daniel's, no biggy." You mock. He shakes his head, looking at you in stunned horror at the comparison.

"Have you seen her tits?!" You counter with a scoff and make an hourglass shape in the air.

"Have you seen her ass?!" He throws his head back and laughs, running and hand down over his face.

"What the fuck was I so scared about?" He chuckles. "God, next time I start acting like such a chicken shit just club me over the head. Ok?"

"Like you were a baby seal." You promise and pull down his pants.

A startled choke leaves your throat as his dick bobs forth from the confines of his jeans. Your eyes widen to the size of dishpans and you can't help but let your mouth drop open in stunned amazement. Sharky looks between your expression and his penis with worried befuddlement.

"What? Don't tell me something wrong. Do I got a tick on me? If there's a tick, just pull it off. I can take it."

Talking about porn stars...You are not ashamed to say that Sharky is not your first lay. College opened plenty of doors for you, most of which you were excited to step through, but...But he is by far the biggest. You swallow down a wad of spit-not drool, you tell yourself-as you run your hand up his shaft, guessing off the top of your head just how...much he measured up.

Uncut, seven and a half inches and thick enough you needed two hands to wrap around him. It's already a kicker but there’s a cherry on top of this sundae, a pun soon to be intended, in the form of a single segmented ring at the opening of his urethra.

Sharky Boshaw has a Prince Albert.

"Um...Cherry?" You hold up your hand, shushing him hurriedly.

"Sharky...Art like this must be appreciated..." He lets out a confused sound, choked suddenly as you sink your mouth down around his cock with a moan of your own. You groan around it, both hands wrapped around the base to keep it right where you wanted, tongue lashing against what you could reach. It felt good, right, satisfying an ache in your jaw you didn't even know you had.

One of his hands ends up in your hair, wound up in the strands and fist shaking. His other is held up to his mouth, teeth in the meat of his palm as he tries to keep from screaming. When was the last time he was sucked off? God, doesn't matter. He's yours now. Your best friend, your lover, your big dick in both banter and literal.

You come off his cock with a string of spit hanging between you. Licking your lips you look up at him over your lashes.

"Tell me you have lube. We need lube." If you're going to take his monster cock, yeah. You've had nothing but your fingers and a very cleverly used tube of mascara for company, you would need some prep if you planned to ride him.

Sharky all but fumbles to his bedside drawer, nearly dropping the bottle of slick as you gobble him back down without a pause between breaths. He gasps as you attempt deeper and deeper with each bob of your head, the tears of strain building in your eyes is satisfying. There is a split second where Sharky just shakes, grabbing the sheets and fisting them before dropping the lube by your elbow. He whines as he catches and holds your hair in his hand once more, gently bobbing your head down just a little bit further than your gag reflex can handle. At the denied access he starts pleading.

"Oh god, come on. Just a little more. Please." He begs. If you didn't know any better, he already sounds like he's about to cum. The single throb that clenched in your throat has you hurrying off of him, both hands cinching tightly around the root of his shaft, like a cock ring. His breathy moan is cut off with a sob, too close and too fast.

"Easy, I don't need fireworks going off just yet." He sniffs, his wet whimper of affirmation causing your pussy to throb. You shift your hips from side to side, feeling yourself practically soaked between your legs.

"Come on, baby. Don't you want feel me ride you?" He quickly nods his head as he fists the blankets, like he doesn't trust himself to move without risking blowing his load. You grin a jaws worthy smile and grab the lube.

"Come on. Watch me, hun." His eyes instantly lock onto your hands, mouth opens and closes as you coat your fingers in a small amount of lube, lathering a bit between your pussy lips before going on to sink two into the meat of your cunt. Your mouth opens in a breathless moan as you feel the stretch; warm walls clenching for more.

Sharky can do nothing but watch in abject horror and lust as you pump your fingers inside of yourself, your other hand coming to grip at his knee for balance and leverage.

"Fuck, baby. You're gonna feel so good inside of me." You whine to yourself, readying a third finger and stuffing it inside with a hitched crack of your voice. You begin to hear clicking, looking to see blue eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears of frustration. The sound that you heard is his teeth clattering together. 

"Oh honey." You coo, releasing his knee to reach for his face. He lays his hand against yours as you cup his cheek, wiping away his tear tracks with the pad of your thumb.

"You think you're okay for me to hop on?" He quickly nods, you worry for whiplash.

"Please."

"You sure you don't need another minute?"

"No, I'm sure. Please. I'll be good." And that raises a brow. A sly smirk creeps over your mouth as you remove your hand from his face and your fingers from your snatch. You squirt a generous amount of lube into your palm before beginning to slick up his cock.

"You will?" You playfully remark, not stroking him more than needed. He's already worked up enough, the head of his cock a painful looking red. You can only hope to get him deep enough inside of you before he cums.

"Are you gonna be good for me, Boshaw?" He nods eagerly. His moan is high-pitched as you position yourself over him.

"Help me guide you in then." He takes a deep gulp of air, quivering hand latching around his dick and holding it upright for you as you slowly, slowly begin to lower yourself down.

The stretch burns, a hot spearing amount of pain races up your spine as you lower yourself onto him. You knew there would be a bit of a drag and the haste of the moment might have made things a little worse for you. You should have spent a little more on prep but poor Sharky looked like he wouldn't last that long...Still doesn't, given the white knuckle grip he has over his meat. His other hand is on your hip, possibly unaware of the crescent marks his nails is leaving in your skin.

"Easy...Easy." He mutters like a mantra, telling a mix between himself and you as you grit your teeth and bear past the head. A sigh leaves your mouth, a bead of sweat dripping from your chin.

From there it is smooth sailing, simply lowering yourself further down and moaning as he reaches deeper inside of you. It's not until you're sitting down fully on his lap that you feel the small prick of pressure of his dick prodding your cervix. For a moment, all you do is reveal in the feeling of having all of him inside you, walls fluttering around him and pulling a pained and sorrowful cry from the pyro.

You open your arms, gladly wrapping him up as he hugs you again and buries his face into the crook of your neck.

"You're in, baby. You're all in."

"Feel so good. So tight. Ooh so goood." He croaks, voice broken and tears leaking from his eyes like a from tap. There's a gross sniff that comes from his nose and you can't help but run your hand over his back, humming softly and not even realizing.

"Okay for me to move?" You're not even entirely sure that you are but damn do you want to, you want to bounce but you don't wanna risk it if he’s not ready.

"Not gonna last long..." You smile, kissing him behind his ear.

"That's okay, baby. Me neither." He smiles at that insightful fact and kisses you back. It’s a soft and gently lock with his lips, his tongue dancing with yours as though in a waltz.

And you start, rising up and shuddering as his cock drags against your walls in all the right ways. The stretch so blissfully painful you have to bite your lip to keep your volume down. Sharky helps with his hands at your hips, gently lifting you before you stop and let gravity have its way.

The both of you let out a sound similar of being punched in the stomach. Your legs quiver as you lift yourself up again and drop once more. And again. And again. After three times you lower yourself and stay, grinding in a circular motion and clenching your walls around him as your insides quiver. Sharky's face is back in the crook of your neck, whispering praises and encouraging dirty talk like he's premiering on Pornhub and honestly, with a dick like his, he should be.

"So good, fuck. God, you're so good. Wanna be good for you. Wanna...Ngh, cum. Wanna cum." You run your hand through his head down the back of his head, placing sweet kiss after kiss on his crown.

"S'ok baby. You can cum." You sigh, having it in you to give yourself one last bounce before Sharky takes over. Grinding your hips too and fro in a quick series of rocks that has pleasure zipping up and down your spine until at last you scream, flexing around him a vice that has him growl like a beast and hold you as though you are a lifeline.

The heat that fills you is ecstasy, a liquid fire that fills your loins and burns you from the inside out. Like the embers of a fall campfire.

You shake around him, coming down from your high slowly and begrudgingly. Wanting nothing more than to stay in that atmosphere of bliss but anymore and you may as well be applying as one of Faith Seed's converts. Sharky still pants into your neck, attempting for air like a fish out of water. Finally, he leans back onto the bed with a flop, arms spread and legs shifting out from underneath you. He is a starfish sleeper and it’s not until you realize his eyes are shut that you shake his shoulder.

"Hey, Sharky? Are you falling asleep?"

He grunts, heavy eyelids opening and a luster smile on his face.

"Sorry, babe. Huge loads like that require some huge downtime." You can hardly believe it, giggling like a loon as he closes his eyes again and then realize the conundrum that leaves you with.

"...Sharky."

"Hmm?"

"Don't go to sleep, your dick is holding back like, a flood of swimmers and I am not gonna be the only one cleaning up this mess."


	3. Jacob Seed - Sentimentality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @burgundy-aes - Soft!Jacob finding a wounded Dep while hunting in the woods and he takes care of them? That'd be cute af.

She was an idiot for thinking that stupid plan would work...Well, in her defense the plan had gone off without a hitch: lure a group of Peggies into the old gas station on the side of the road, gerry-rig said gas station with a pack of C4 wired to the front door, sit back on her safe spot on the hill and watch for the fireworks...And boy-was there explosions. Outside of the ringing in her ears from the fuel pumps catching fire and simultaneously combusting into flame, Rook could hear the impressed yodel of 'Fucking Beautiful,' from Sharky all the way back at the 8-Bit Pizza Diner.

Or that could have been the blood loss.

Rook shrieks as the shrapnel embedded in her leg shifts from the strain of having to walk down the rocked road. First aid training from the police academy wizened her on the effects of pointy objects and whether to remove them or not. This, was not something to be removed, too close to an artery and the only reason she's not dead yet is because she still has at least a pint of blood to go before passing out. She had looked at her map, cursed to herself, used her belt as a tourniquet and started on the mile trek to the nearest outpost.

Yeah, Rook seriously doubted that she's make that. The woodlands and forest terrain was already difficult enough not to get lost in, never mind trying to navigate while loopy from injury and shell shocked from an explosion. That serves her right for trying to replicate something off of The Fast and the Furious. Now, she hears Sharky Boshaw cursing her name. Probably waving his fist as he tries to defend his idol in Vin Diesel…

Yeah, this blood loss was kicking her ass. Rook made noises as she dropped herself down on the nearest and comfiest looking outcrop of bramble and ferns. Exertion dripped down her face in the form of sweat, sticking her wind swept hair to her skin. She hissed as she tightened her belt, but it wasn't doing her much good. She skipped through the stages of grief and landed right on the finished edges of denial. She sighed as she looked up to the canopy. Through the top branches of the trees, she watches dark clouds roll in and hears the distant rumbling of the approaching thunderstorm. The humidity in the air already makes the blood flowing down her leg feel tacky enough. She doesn't want to die sticky and sweaty in the rain, in the ass crack of the mountains.

A tight laugh of manic disbelief parts her panting lips, tears of frustration beading in her eyes but refusing to fall; she was stronger than that. Stronger than this. It was a stupid idea. Sure, she's had plenty of near collisions with death before but all of them were overcome with quick thinking. This...this she couldn't out-think. 

She pulls her radio off her hip and sighs, staring at the dial and considering paging for help. What stage was this, bargaining? She chokes on her tears, knot forcing in her throat before holding down the communicator and calling out.

"Testing...Testing...This is The Deputy calling for aid. Is anyone there?" She sounds wrecked, clearing her throat and repeating. Greeted with static on her channel, she gave it a three beat pause before switching to another...And then another...Her hopeless worry breaks through with a sob as she realizes that she oncoming storm must be jamming the signals.

The flood works start up, salty tracks running down her cheeks and gross sniffs catching in her nose cause her to cough. She can imagine the Seeds pointing and sneering. Hell, she's only met John once. His Baptism waterlogging her to the point of going for a walk past the Henbane and when she receives a call from Sheriff Whitehorse is when she sees Faith in the middle of nowhere, her white dress flowing in some imaginary breeze as she blows dust in Rooks face and takes her on a 'Leap of Faith.’ Screw Joseph and his 'heart wrenching' story of his wife and child, how God ordained him to squeeze the life out of an innocent babe just brought into the world-killed before she even had a chance to live!

And Jacob? Fuck Jacob, just fuck him with an electric cattle prod. How dare he play head games with her! Commanding her to cull the herd she wants nothing to do with. Ordering her to slaughter the weak she was meant to protect. He winds her up like a fucking toy and just watches her go, goading her unwanted praise for every kill and shot she takes, looking at her with eyes full of misplaced pride and...and something else she doesn't even want to acknowledge simply because it's ridiculous and wrong to even think about.

She barks a groggy laugh. Imagine him seeing her now. Broken, bleeding out, bordering on hysterics in fear of closing her eyes and never waking up again. Her vision cats back to the radio in her hands, thumb turning the dial. There was still one last channel she hadn't tried, couldn't or wouldn't try because of how counterproductive and dynamically unsettling it would be but who knows? Cull the weak and all that, right? If she's lucky, he'll come down and put and quick and timely bullet in her head instead of letting her slowly bleed out.

Pressing the communicator she lets out an empty sound as she flounders for what to say. She pulls back, let's go. Her pride is forcefully shook from her back in a tremble as rainwater starts to fall from the overcast. Rook repeats the action and belts out a nonsense of words, not giving them enough thought to regret.

"This isn't exactly how I imagined I would go and I'm sure as shit it's not how you would picture it ending. Hell, if you had your way I'd figure you'd feed me to the wolves, or perhaps strangle me to death." She laments. Not even really calling him for help. Looking at the puddle of blood on the forest ground, she accepts that it may be a bit too late. She nods to herself, vision going a bit dark at the edges.

"Yeah, strangling seems right. You've got big hands-Strong hands. Could probably wrap around my throat with just one...And calloused, I don't mean to tell you how to live your life but you could do with a little bit of moisturizing. You're what, in your forties? I'm surprised your nails haven't just dried up and fallen off." She takes her thumb off the button, listening to static feed through the speakers. Figures, on death's bed and her last words is skin care management wasted on her enemy.

She's about to close her eyes and give in before a familiar deep tenor rings out through the static.

"Where are you?" She huffs an amused and pained laugh.Not even a 'hi' or 'how you doing?' She rolls her head to the side and makes out what little she can see of the gas station sign, it's blurry in the distance. 

"What used to be the Shell Station, bout 20 klix east of PIN-KO. Can't miss me. Just follow the smoke and the blood."

"Don't move. My Hunters are coming for you." She rolls her eyes.

"Don't move, you say. I can't, ya ginger dick. Pretty sure I'll be dead by the time your Hunters get here."

Rook can't tell if the tears have stopped or if the rain is just heavy enough to hide them. She realizes that she can't feel her legs anymore and dark splotches are now trying to take over her vision. Licking her lips, she thumbs the button again.

"Seed?...Look I know we’re supposed to be tearing at each other's throat and all but...I really don't want to die." Fuck power dynamics.

There is a silence on the other end, she doesn't expect an answer but she gets one. There's a hurried sounding shift in the background, a truck door slamming and engine revving. What is he coming himself now?

"You are not going to die, Sweets." She doesn't even grumble at the nickname, too tired to start that fight.

He calls her Sweets because she was too sweet to skin a rabbit. It had been a hunting trip with Jess that some of his men had been within eyesight to report. He then called her weak for not taking what was rightfully earned. Then he called her weak because she wouldn't put it out of its misery. Jess had been the one to snap it's neck. Jess had been the one to pat her shoulder when she cried over the poor rabbit.

Its foot dangles from the clasp of her watch on her left hand.

"Sweets? Stay awake. Talk to me."

"Talking to you." She smarts off, closing her eyes. Just closing them, she won't sleep…

...Just for a little bit…

Rook wakes up with a light in her eyes. For a moment she believes that she's stepping through heaven's gate then she feels the sharp and agonizing pain of a set of tweezers pulling bits of metal out of her leg. She screams, of course, because each of the four pieces is about the size of her middle finger and fuck if that doesn't hurt like a sonofabitch

There is a heavy weight in her hand that is almost crushed by the grip she gives it, remember losing consciousness with her walkie in her palm. The grunt of both surprise and pain corrects her that no, it’s not her walkie she’s holding and yes, she was right about Jacob possibly being able to fit a single hand around her throat. He gives her a sturdy squeeze back, both in what might have been revenge and also a very wrong sense of reassurance. Because why the fuck would Jacob Seed reassure his enemy?

The doctor-Rook hardly believes him to be a doctor-It's been nothing but veterinarians since she's gotten to Hope County, he gives one more tug and the piece of lodged shrapnel comes out. The action earning a hoarse scream of horrendous suffering through the room of torture.

"That's the last of it. She needs a blood fusion." She shakes her head, sweat dislodging from her skin and running down her neck. The pain is still there, burning-searing through her muscles and nerves like liquid napalm, catching fire to her entire limb and boiling the flesh.

She goes under, barely hearing Jacob Seed muttered answer.

"Use mine."

When she comes to again, it's from the insistent nagging and overwhelming urge to pee.

She looks around first, still hardly believing herself to be alive. The room is empty; bars over the windows and mandatory in terms of furnishing. There is a bedside table, a desk, chair, a single bulb embedded in the ceiling, and what she can tell is a foot locker trunk at the end of her bed. The mattress itself is hard, but after having to constantly sleep on the go, be it in a truck or a tent in the woods, a mattress is a mattress and the best thing Rook's had the pleasure of laying her back on in a while. The same could be said for the pillow under her head, despite its standard issue of a hospital or retirement home...Or Veterans Center.

That is what has her throwing the thin blanket off her body and looking down at her legs. One leg of her jeans had been cut completely off, possible for allowing the 'doctor' to perform his surgery and bandage her. Said bandages, wrapped neatly over her femoral injury. She grumbles to herself, fingers itching over the gauze and then stopping when she catches the nag and sight of the needle in her hand. She follows the cord to a bag of blood, hanging from the rack beside her bed, contents nearly empty.

Rook grabs the metal IV rod and uses it as a crutch to help her stand from the bed. She hobbles to the nearest window, peeking out the see the dog cages and starving inhabitants of Jacob's would be army in the making. This confirmed her suspicions of where she was. She looks to the chest at the end of her bed, opening it and finding her gear. She knows that she is not much of a threat in her current state and Jacob likewise seemed to agree, otherwise she wouldn't have the luxury of fishing through her bag for...He took her radio...Of course.

She spies the bathroom, a small doorway leading in and stumbles on her way for the blessed toilet her bladder is calling for. Her foot catches on the wheel of the rack and sends her tumbling forward, a scream tapers off from her mouth before she hits the floor, smart enough to curl herself away from landing on her injury.

And it's the scream that has motion sound outside her door before Jacob turns the knob and steps in. When he sees her laid out and quivering in pain on the floor he shakes his head, the heavy footfalls of his boots on the floor clapping loudly in his approach.

"Stupid for you to be trying to run away, Sweets." She growls at him, attempting to help herself back to her feet by practically crawling up her IV rod. She sighs, giving up as her hands only slip at the first grasp.

"Not runnin' Seed. Bathroom."

At her simple statement, he scrunches his face before offering his hand. Rook looks at it, considering for a moment before her bladder reminds her of the possible leak and begrudgingly she takes his hand.

He wraps his other arm around her hip and lifts her off the ground before seeing her back to her feet. Considerately, leading her over to the eagerly sought out restroom and sets her down beside the toilet.

Rook doesn't have to make any comment about needing privacy as he politely turns his back, and nonchalantly steps out the room.

When she finishes her business, she exits to see him sitting at the desk. A manila folder in his hand and eyes glossing over it. With no acknowledgement made to her, she sits back in bed.  
For a moment they sit in an awkward silence, well Awkward for Rook. She had no idea what Jacob is feeling, as she nibbles her lips, fingers lazily scratching over her gauze while she looks at him out the corner of her eye.

"Stop that." She stills her fingers and plays ignorant, just to fill the tense silence.

"What?" He drops his papers just enough to look at her over them.

"Pickin' at your wound. It's not gonna get any better with you fiddlin' at it."

She bites the inside of her lip and throws him a hostile look.

"I know that." He arches his brows in a gesture of 'oh really?'

"Then why were you pickin' at it?"

"Why aren't I in a cage?"

He sighs, tired and lays down the folder on the desk. She notices photo's inside that look suspiciously a lot like her and realize that it's probably a report on the incident that she had just caused. Jacob stands from his chair, the wood groaning in protest.

"What happens to a sick dog when it's left on its own? When it is surrounded by hungry predators, wild for a chance at life?" She grinds her teeth, fingers fisting the blankets tightly at how he manages to sounds so condescending. 

"What happens to it, Sweets?" That's another thing about Jacob Seed. He's no smarter than any other man yet manages to sound so all knowing, preaching about the wild and the kill. They say John Seed is the showy one, Rook would say it's a tie.

Accepting the small defeat, she lowers her head.

"It dies."

"It dies." He confirms, looking down over his kingdom outside the window and crossing his arms behind his back.

Rook sits in silence for a second more before lowly letting out a draw of air and further testing the waters.

"So...Why aren't I dead?" He turns to her with a confused quirk of his brow.

"You called me, remember?" She shakes her head.

"No, I mean right now. You know, the whole cull the weak thing. With a bum leg I'm the living definition of weak. So, why haven't you killed me? Better yet, why save me in the first place?" She asks, frustration starting to work its way into her tone.

"I was hoping to just get in some valiant last words. I didn't expect you to actually show up." She lied.

Jacob takes a step towards her. Rook draws up, shoulders bunched defensively, fingers curling with her nails practically itching to sink into skin. On the outside, she probably looked like a wild animal posed to attack and that's exactly why Jacob lifts his hands in a show of-it's not surrender. Rook doesn't see Jacob as a man to 'do' surrender.

"Easy, Sweets." He coos in a tone that should not have shivers shuddering down her spine.

"I am not here to threaten you or hurt you or throw you back into the wilds, less than fit to protect yourself." She scrunches her face in doubt as he takes another step before standing within clawing distance before her. 

"And you are here with your wound treated, leg bandaged and recovering. You're here because you called me. You were dying, nearly did, but you called me." He opens his arms in show of the fact.

"And you wanna look that gifted horse in the mouth?" Now he’s being coy, he’s teasing her. As though she had the audacity.

She growls. 

"There's a catch."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, obviously but what good would it do you to worry about that as you are now?" At her lack of reply he turns over and sits beside her. Before she can make a move to curl away from her he grabs her injured leg. She winces, expected pain but notices the glare on his face go soft. It crossed his mind, that much was clear but something made him decide against testing her wound and exchange the idea for softly petting the bandage.

Rook couldn’t tell if it was mocking if if this was Jacob Seeds way of showing comfort. If it was than her perception of Jacob Seed may have changed just a little. The calloused wild man that threw her in a cage and ordered her to kill. He's got sharp edges yes, but there is something there that is reminiscent of a man with his own history of trauma. He wears his scars with no shame, chemical burns on his arm and fire burns on the side of his face. He knuckles are dusted with scabs that she can relate to being picked at compulsively.

She mentally slaps herself: This is Jacob Seed, the enemy. Someone she does not need to be relating too.

Then he goes and opens his mouth again, pretending he's higher than and looking down on her-teaching her.

"You are one hell of a solider."

He continues without pause. "I’ve send squad and squad for you and you put them down like a one man army. You set traps, you use advantages." He huffs an almost strained chuckle, rubbing one hand over his face. "You do these skillful things with your surrounding that's so far out of the box. And when you're asked how you get the idea you spit in my face that it's just common sense." 

Rook remembers that...It was the fifth day in the kennel. He released a wolf into her cell and the only way she was able to outmatch it was by quickly wrapping her arm up her jacket and using it as a distraction before getting its back legs and flipping it over. She crushed it's neck underneath her foot and snarled at Jacob like a feral dog.

"So?" He retreats his hand from her leg, placing it in his lap. She scoots just a little bit away from him.

"So? Just because you are injured doesn't mean you are weak. You are a fine soldier in both body and mind. People like to forget and think that sheer strength is all they need to be strong but it's not. If you don't have a brain to flex than there's nothing stopping you from running out into a field of bullets with the thought that you're too powerful to let a 50. cal stop you."

Rook takes the moment to neglect informing him that she got her injury by standing in the blast zone of her own trap.

"Being strong is not taking on an army single handedly thinking you'll come out in the end." He states. "Using your goddamn common sense to see you need backup and then calling for it? That's strong. That's how you win a war."

He looks her over, eyeing the injury. "You needed help, you called for help." He smirks.

"Just a benefit for me that I was the help that answered. It's true that for the sake of my men and family I should just put a bullet it your head but you are lot more worthy than a quick shot behind the chemical shed." 

"So what, you're gonna wait for me to recover and then throw me back into your training regimen?" He sighs, worrying his jaw back and forth as a show of thinking it through but nodding his head.

"I'll give you about a days head start..."

And Rook lets her shock show as he offers his hand in the form of a promise.

"Deal? You let me take care of potentially the finest soldier I've got, recover and once you're discharged, I'll give you a day on foot."

She quickly shakes her head, confusion and flabbergasted.

"Wait..Wait..Just what the hell do you get out of this?"

She watches him turn it over in his head before his stormy blue eyes lock with her own.

"Why didn't you kill the rabbit?"

Her throat stops up, chokes. Her fingers curl around the rabbits foot, chain just low enough so that she can hold it. She huffs, uncertain before going ahead and giving him his answer. Hell, he is promising her reprieve.

“It’s a stupid story.” He hums, giving a nod.

“Must not be if you can kill squads of men and not a rabbit. What? You got a thing for bunnies, Sweets?” She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"I was thirteen...It was spring and I found a baby rabbit in my backyard. It was alone...No brothers or sisters. No mama or dad...I got a shoe box and took care of it." She licked her lips.

"Something so small...Vulnerable and too young to protect itself, I wanted to keep it safe. That mentally grew up with me, keeping and protecting things...Back then I felt like I had to. Now, I feel like I need to." She sees him nod, a glint and change in his eyes that seems...It’s a good look on him, softens his face.

Rook turns her gaze down to fist the blankets, messing the fabric over absentmindedly in her hands, just to keep from looking at him.

"Well, when it finally got big enough that I could let it outside it just wouldn't leave. It stayed and lived under the porch. Always came up to me when I came out. I didn't keep it caged in or nothing.” She shrugged. "I knew one day some animal would get it, I just didn't think...I didn't think it would happen when I was out there with it." She took a deep breath before continuing.

"A coyote came out of the bushes, swoop in and torn 'em to shreds right in front of me. It was all matted and scabbed, looked like a fucking monster. I didn't even think, just acted. Grabbed the nearest shovel and started beatin' it over the head.”

Rook felt her eyes start to get damp and blinked them away. "I was just so angry at it. I worked so hard to keep that little rabbit safe until it was big enough to live on it’s own and when it was it felt like it didn’t even really get to live, ya know?” She cleared her throat and shook her head, expression turned firm.

“So, I just kept hitting the thing and hitting it until it let ‘em go and stopped moving.” A pained smile developed on her face, even as her eyes shined. “Weren’t much left of the rabbit I could bury…”

Jacob says nothing, in the moment she really needs him to. Instead, he pinches the skin of her knee and gets up from the bed.

He makes it to the door before turning to her.

"You're too sweet, Rook." She hunches in on herself, figuring he'd say that. "But..."

"But...?"

"There’s strength in sentiment. Helped you kill that ‘monster’ didn’t it?"


	4. Staci Pratt - Deep Shallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @max-amber - The sweetest gentle sexy time with my boy Staci, pretty please and thank you.

Since after Jacob, the events within the bunker and Eli's funeral. You have taken a pause from being the hero. You could let your thoughts linger on the ghost you see out of the corner of your eyes. Jacob's phantom, with his stomach spilled from a wild animal and haunting expression going grim as he grins at you a mouth full of bloody red teeth. 'You're no hero.' He goads, gesturing to the funeral pyre.

Survivor's guilt. PTSD. Brainwashing. Conditioning. The strong cull the weak. The strong cull the herd.

You know this train of thought is dangerous. It leads people to do something terribly drastic that they don’t live to regret. You had watched Eli's burning with a heavy heart and skull pounding with the hissed voice of crippling self-hate and taunting.

'Your fault. It's all your fault. He wasn't weak. He wasn't! You have no justification for this! It was Jacob. Jacob was the one too weak to kill him. Look at what you’ve done. Look at what happens when you try to play the hero!'

A nudge at your fingers has you snap back to reality with a sharp intake for air. Your lungs scream as you've taken up the risky habit of holding your breath during these trips though the black box. It’s a chest of Pandora, the corner of your mind that is slowly becoming harder and harder to close as everything that's happened to you since stepping foot in Hope County just keeps piling up.

Another nudge keeps you from sinking back into the pits of memory lane. Pratt is standing in front of you, his own wild eyes searching for you through the haze of bad times.

"You're okay." He states but you're not. Neither is he. He's the only one who knows what train of thought would have you vanish late at night through the halls of the Wolf’s Den. He's the only one who knows where to find you in the far backroom, standing there like a stone figure. He knows the comforts of biting your nails until they bleed. He knows the comforts of chewing through your lip until the fat swells. He knows the comfort of staring silently into the corner of a wall.

It's a wall; a solid structure. You need a solid structure and a wall is not sentient but provides. A wall does not move you or interrupt you as you mutter to yourself that it's wrong to think about killing your friends, that you love them but they can't do anything on their own, that while they are weak they need you.

Staci's hand cups cold over your feverish cheek, giving you a hard but much needed shake.

"Rook." You blink and take another deep breath. He repeats, "You are okay." No, you’re not. Wrong, that you weren’t the one burning. Pratt takes your hand and ignores the blood welling up from your bitten cuticles. He holds it up to his chest and your lips quiver as you feel his heart beating through the fabric of his clothes and skin. 

"Feel this okay? Focus on this." You nod as he lets go of your hand, you keep it there. There's a twisted sort of wisdom in his eyes, broken wisdom and experienced gain from broken lessons and messed up circumstances.

"Listen to this." He says and cups his hands over your ears. Leaving you drowning in the sudden thoughts of-You watch his mouth move, 'Listen' and you quickly do before the box can crack open again.

For a moment, all you hear is the ring of damage permanently left from the loud shots of gunfire. Then you listen past that to a soft rumbling...Turning...Like molten hot magma through the channels of a volcano. It's the quivers of an earthquake, the rush of an explosion. It's Staci Pratt's blood flowing through his hands and all at once becomes overwhelming.

Instead of panic the switch sends you cascading into a sense of calm. A beach bank of serotonin waters that you wish to deep your feet in. Staci smiles, he knows the feeling.

"It helps...Knowing you're alive."

And he wraps you up in his arms, taking you over to the bed and lifting the blankets over the both of you. It's hot in the Den, it's summer in Montana and your clothes are already sticky enough but leaned back against Pratt's chest you find you don't care. 

You're alive…

You're alive?

Like waking from a dream, you lift your head from Staci’s chest and search his face. He's lying, you can see it in his eyes; pretending. He's better off than you though. He's found his way to cope and shared it. You wanna do more because you can see the damage done to him. You can see the break and chips and broken bits and pieces that he's trying very hard to keep together in his hands. He frowns at your searching, knows of your need to help-‘be the hero’-and shakes his head.

"Don't, Rook." He doesn't hold back the sigh of relief as you brush your hands over his forehead, gently pulling back his hair and cupping his cheeks. You lay a single soft kiss to the bristly coarse hair of his patchy and growing beard.

Staci is lying but with you he doesn't have to. He doesn't have to pretend he's not messed up and neither do you. You watch as his throat constricts, muscles flexing as he swallows a choke that rises anyways.You place another kiss, this time to his adams apple and wrap your arms around him. He begins to wheeze into the corner of your neck, hands digging into your shoulder as he similarly holds you tightly against him.

"I'll be your glue if you be my tape." He sobs, accepting your nonsense as you run your hand down through the back of his hair. You snag on a knot and work it loose.

You throw back the sheets and stand to close the door. At the sound of its latch, something curls in your stomach at the comparison to a cage being locked, a kennel being chained. You quickly step back over to Pratt as he is undoing his boots and belt. You sit beside him with your hands fumbling at your own shoestrings, fingers unsteady. A sick turn rolls in your stomach and you are having trouble navigating the mixture of feelings as either giddiness or terror. Both? Is both bad?

Pratt stands to take his pants off but you stop him with a hand on his hip, fisting the dirty denim of his fatigues. He sharply inhales as you tug him to stand in front of you and slowly lower unbutton his jeans, pressing your fingers at the elastic of his briefs.

He bites his lip, canine sinking into the softness of tissue when you lower his smalls. He's at half mast and you can understand. You don't exactly get completely off yourself on the afterthought of trauma and considered suicide. That's why you are doing this. You both need to release it. You both know too much about hurt that you need to remember how good the good feels.

You brush your lips against the head of his cock, mouthing it absentmindedly as you explore the girth of his shaft. While he is above average you consider that the size doesn't matter, he'll get you through the storm. It'll make a nice anchor. You lick at the circumcised bulb and toy at him with your teeth, not putting pressure on. It’s just to feel the mass of his weight under the tips of your incisors. He watches you with his lips opened, eyes half-lidded and hypnotized while you brush your hand down his length; finally filling out.

You pull his boxers completely down past his knees. He shuffles out of them once you give a flick of the tongue over his urethra and rub your lips together at the strong salty aftertaste.

You align yourself with your hands finding their purchase on his sharp hip bones and swipe a thumb courteously over his skin. Before taking him down into your mouth, you level him with one more look in his eyes and list off the recognized emotions. Desire, adoration, gratitude, trust and the kind of love for the given occasion. He doesn't see the ghosts, he doesn't hear their whispers. He moans so beautifully as you swallow him and bob. One of his hands reaches for your head, settling on your crown in coronation as his other remains fisted at his side, knuckles white.

He sighs and pets as you rock with him in your mouth, laying your tongue on the underside of his dick and let him slide with each pass. One of your hands lifts away from his hip to press at his lower back, dragging him closer as you explore while tilting your head, trying to find what way would best get him deeper down your throat. You gag, eyes filling with tears as you draw back and swallow before trying again. You can't quite get it right but Staci still shakes and his fist pulls at your hair. The pain distracts you from the burn in your throat and with one more bob, he goes down deep.

"Fuck!" It's sharp, not caught off guard but expressive. It's a cry that has his knees lock and knob together. You take one of the shattered pieces of Staci Pratt and start to build him back up again.

He pulls you off by gently cupping the underside of your chin, a string of spit and drool manages to keep you connect for a second longer before Staci leans down and breaks the tie with a kiss. You close your eyes in bliss as he explores your mouth with gratitude. His arms lock underneath your legs and shifts you upwards on the bed, laying you flat.

Staci Pratt is gentle, methodical and surprisingly steady as he draws down your jeans. The only thing to put a pause on the heated exchange is when he catches sight of your underwear. He fumbles with his mouth, unable to decide whether he should comment or not before a grin breaks out. This seems to set off a chain reaction of other emotions as he draws a hand through his hair and shakes his head from the storm clouds circling above.

You coyly bite your lips in your own giddy laughter.

Hip huggers decorated in Garfield caricatures are smoothly pulled off and lain in the floor with the rest of your clothes.

Staci gives you an exasperated smile before he pulls his shirt off from over his head and you try not to stare at the deep bruises on his chest. The single unavoidable glance you catch has your mind reeling on the fist sized shapes. You close your eyes, shaking your head and press against your eyelids.

"Rook?" You shake again before drawing your hands down, fluttering your fingers softly against the trauma to his skin and take him by his lips, pouring as much love as you can into the kiss while trying to will the hurt from ever happening in the first place.

He groans, spreading your legs and curls his body over you, supporting himself by bracing on his forearm.

You feel his dick brush up briefly against the mounds of your womanhood, a jolt of excitement flooding up from your toes to the tips of your ears. Still, a shudder of nervousness creeps up your back, swatted away with another kiss from Staci.

You breathe against his lips a compulsive thought that crosses your mind.

"I'm clean." And he stills. A well meant comment creating a whole new crack. You quickly drag him back with another kiss, shaking you head erratically in terror that he will stop and disappear. You messed up. "I didn't mean...I don't care. I want this with you, Staci." He exhales and moves to press his lips to your forehead.

"No, I know." He speaks into your skin. "I am too, I promise."

With everything going on, neither of you can exactly get tested. You can only hold him to his words and decide that even if he could be lying, that's alright. Because this, right now, is life changing. This isn't just sex. With Staci, it will be okay. A solid gut feeling and a lot repeating to yourself. A hopeful swell in your chest and tears in your eyes has you knowing that Staci's going to be good to you. You're going to be good to him.

He gives you a look with wide and concerned, hopeful eyes and nudges down towards you cunt. You smile, nodding your head.

He sits up straight to explore your mound, returning the favor from earlier. Slipping his middle finger between your folds he releases a quick exhale, almost a whistle when he comes in contact with how wet you are. You bite your lip, curl your toes when he digs his finger into you, search and feeling. He treats you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone only pretending to be a virgin because you gasp and then he smirks with confidence as the pad of his finger brushes up against a well sought-out spot.

Another piece is glued back together and you see the Pratt that's a prat start to come together-from Hope County's Police Department, teasing you with the morning coffee and holding it just out of reach above your head.

One finger, steadily becomes two and then a third that causes your thighs to twitch as he assaults the sensitive bundle of nerves with a vengeance. When his thumb brushes the head of your clit is when you seize him by the wrist, shaking your head as a tear manages to escape your eye.

"In me. Please." His smile warms you to the core, removing his hand and briefly taking a moment to suck your juices off his digits before taking himself by the shaft and lining up with your entrance.

Regardless of whether or not it is your first time, Staci is as gentle as a lamb. His face contorts from the tight grip your walls give as he nudges the head of his cock inside of you. He is slow and steady until that sharp pain hits and passes before he buries the rest in with one fluid motion.

Your voice breaks when you feel his balls rest at the crack of your ass. That first tear that had fallen becomes a small stream down your cheeks as Staci braces himself and presses his forehead against your, simply experiencing what it is to be inside of you.

"Okay?" You nod, returning his kiss before he starts to rock. He never takes his lips off of yours even as you moan and whisper soft gasps of pleasure.

It is a kind of tender lovemaking that you usually only read about in romance novels. It's passionate, full of feeling, sensual even when he starts to pick up the pace and turn his rocks into thrusts. He hooks his arms around your legs, folding you closer and begins to grunt as his skin claps loudly against yours.

You feel him throbbing inside of you, veins pulsing in the oncoming climax. His own moan starts to cut off into the clattering of his teeth as sweat builds up between you, sticking to your skin and making the air feel thick.

"T-Touch yourself." He pleads, his bangs bouncing as he grinds his hips once hard, the drag of his lower abdomen brushing against your clit as he does.

You waste no time settling your fingers between you, flickering the button of your clit in hurried swabs.

Staci chokes on a sob as he drops one of your legs in favor of cupping your chin.

"I-I'm gonna cum...I'm...gonna cum and I'm ....I-I'm gonna k-keep going for you...O-Okay?" You nod, hardly hearing him between the blood rushing in your ears and your own sobs. You just nod and lean your face into his hand as you chase after your high, wanting nothing more than to come with him but Staci cries and his hips lock.

The stillness lasts only for a brief second, not even a blink before his thrusts start back up again becoming hard, almost brutal in comparison the pace before. It has your walls fluttering spasms around him as he lifts your legs over his shoulders and buries into you. His stomach muscles flex and face goes red while he works through his own climax, spilling into you in jets and stirring the release until you see it frothing a ring around his shaft, almost like a wedding band.

Your moans go quiet, too much for your throat as you quiver, legs locking behind his hips and pulling him in to hilt. You own climax hits you, forcing you to keep Staci pinned as you hump against him with erratic thrust. He lays over you, fingers joining yours at your clit and stroking hard, too hard, too much, too fast, whispering love and encouragement into your ears.

"So beautiful. You're so beautiful. Thank you. Thank you, Rook. Thank you so much."

When the coil in your stomach finally dies, when your legs drop from around him is when he stops his attack on your clit, wrapping you up his arms and rolling onto his side, taking you with him to rest your head on his chest. He keeps whispering, to himself and to you.

"Thank you. Thank you. You came. You came for me." In this context, you can't tell whether or not he's referring to cumming or coming after him as he laid strapped to a chair in Jacob's bunker.

You merely hush him, rubbing your hand over his chest and feeling his heartbeat through his skin.

"It's okay, Staci." He sobs into the crown of your hair. He doesn't say it but you know he wants too.

'I love you Staci, everything is going to be okay.'

He may not be the same Staci Pratt as before, will cracks in him and pieces all glued together but he's yours. While you may not be the same Rookie, with tape stuck fast and shattered exterior, you're his.

Together, you’re finely sculpted soldiers having finally found solace during the war.


	5. John Seed - Till Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @max-amber - "You share your soulmates pain" from the prompt list - with Dep and John in which John tries to hurt her and then recognizes her as his soulmate? :)
> 
> Soulmate AU! You share your soulmates pain. Alternately, you can share your feelings with your soulmate. In times of stress, you can send them positive energy

It is a common fact in this world that someone has a soulmate, that somewhere on Earth is a missing half to a person that is meant to complete them in every way, shape, and form. Whether it be a man or a woman, same or different sex, or even no orientation at all-There are no borders in this world, no barrier or wall that can separate Them. Love can come in all different kinds; a pair from the United States and India, a couple of Muslim and French. Greatest enemies could even be partners for life. Best friends could be stuck together for eternity; all because the world has managed to share its hurt with the many.

Johnathan Seed knew he had a soulmate just as his brothers knew that they had theirs. It was an unfortunate prank from God or perhaps a blessing in a sick disguise that their father would pound, beat, break, and whip them like they were his own personal toy to abuse. They each had their lumps and scars, they each whispered to their skin with apologizes for the pain and torment they surely caused their significant other, whether They had be born yet or not. There had been reports and studies of women suffering traumatic births at the abuse and accumulative pain brought on by the tethered bond before the umbilical cord could be cut. The mother takes on that pain, giving their spawn a fresh slate, a blessed beginning so that they may know no pain before their first breath. 

Looking back at it now, John is sure that perhaps his significant was raised by a single parent or maybe even orphaned at birth. He hopes that they do not blame him and that if they did...He himself would not blame them. 

He felt them for the first when the pain tolerance is low and the Duncan's have only taken to slapping his knuckles over textbooks on the table. His mother hovers over his shoulders during advance communication skills, grooming him for law practice in the safety of home and never once letting him out of sight lest he gives in the the temptations of a sin they would undoubtedly blame him of committing.

It had started as a small tickle at the bottom of his chin then it erupts into a tear wrenching heat across his tongue that had him cringing and swallowing back a scream. Pins and needles ran across the organ like a sewing machine stitching him with barbed wire. He asked to be excused, knuckles turning white under the table and fled to the bathroom with expressed permission.

After shutting the door, he had no choice but to leave it unlocked as his mother claims the deadbolt would give way to the temptations of touch. He has already professed the sin, the want and the urge under the lashings of a belt, the stomp of a foot on his hand but still, she refuses the locks.

When he looks in the mirror, he sees a faint discoloration on his chin. It is the mimic of a bruise, already forming on his soulmates face. He opens his mouth, wincing in pity and pain at the sight of a line red line across his tongue, indentations of teeth that split the organ and beads up a single red tear. His soulmate had bitten Their tongue. Perhaps They had tripped? Perhaps They had told a lie or been scared? He runs the pad over his finger across the fine red line and draws back his thumb with copper on his skin. He stares lost in a haze of both happiness and rising dread.

This had been the first time he has ever felt Them and surely, this is proof that They have had no choice but to feel the awful things done to him. He wonders if They too has tossed in pain from the nightly beating, sores and welt preventing Them from going to sleep. He wonders if They quake at school, trying not to scream as his father's belt lashes across his back from misreading the commandments. He wonders if They have heard the pain of ‘demon’ being marked into his sin-Of ‘sinner’ being slapped across his face. He wonders if They hate him, having not met him yet. He has no way of excusing the hurt.

They are younger than him, he knows. Possibly three or four years behind him in age as one morning he wakes up with cramps running through his body and the phantom throbs in his groan from parts he doesn't have. The Duncan's had found out, they had given him the mandatory explanation a nurse, doctor, school, or even good parents would have about how he is fated for someone in the world, how someone is bound and destined to be his. The Lord commands it and it will be. 

The beatings continue though. The Duncan’s claim that anyone destined for a sinner such as himself must also be fraught with such uncleanness. It is the first time he gives into Wrath, snarling and tossing as he tried to defend is betrothed but he does not deny it. He cannot deny them. The probing and prodding has him affirm their statements, chanting yes over and over again. Giving them what they want to hear. Doing what they want done. After the stings have stopped for the day and he is locked into his room with his studies. He scratches 'sorry,' repeatedly into his arm, it is the least he can do.

Since then, he holds onto every sensation from Their end like a lifeline. They seem to be raised with a good life as he never feels torment on Their behalf from their invisible bond. If anything, it is a sting of relief when a paper cut forms on the pads of his fingers. He lets out soft sighs between parted lips as a bruise forms on his leg, nearly always in the same place. His soulmate is a clumsy one, bumping and nudging against the corners of a desk or possibly the frame of a bed.

They had made it very clear that They do not care for his habits. As cocaine races up his nostrils and the force of a good time is knocked into his body, while he is not beaten or harmed, the wounds are still there and still hurt. He wants to go numb, he hopes he can give that to Them as well. If the phantoms are haunting him, they must be haunting Them also. Let him do this for Them, he thinks and he is brought back into the waking world with a hard slap to the cheek. They pinch his arms and legs, he shivers at the feeling of ice cold water being dumped over him in the form of rain. They bite the inside of their mouth, they pick at the injection marks in his arms.

They can not always catch him but one day, pay him back for it as he is defending a case. He stumbles mid-speech as heat flares and burns from his shoulder, having him drop with a shout. The judge gives him recess, asks if he needs aid, he politely declines as he races to the restroom to pull off his shirt. He sees the flower of a scar blooming on his shoulder. Shot. They had been shot.

He backs up to lean against a stall with deep racks of terror. Are they okay? Are they dead? What happened? His fingers itch, nails digging as he cuts into his forearm with the tip of his index. 'OK? OK? OK?!'

They leave him out of character for the rest of the trial, waiting until the end of the day until he is shaking in bed with fear before relief is etched into his thigh.

'I'm alright.'

He beings to want more and more to feel confirmation that They are there as he spirals into a sea of vices and loneliness. He wonders if They know of the lust that drives through him on late nights, when he runs his nails over his chest and pinches his nipples with grit teeth. He cups himself in a painful grip. They run tracks up to his inner thighs, claw below his navel. He comes with Their fingers digging into his shoulder. He makes it clear to any of the needy harlots he lays with, not to make a mark on him. He feels as though he has betrayed Them.

When Joseph finds him and his heart is released from the cage placed on it by the Duncan's, he can only cry in relief. The headache of tears pounding behind his eyes and he wonders, can hope and joy can be shared as well? Joseph believes so, he believes that the Lord has blessed him with a soulmate to help shoulder his burdens until they day when they can meet and atone together. John must take the first step, only through him can they together be saved. He must carry his sins, as his soulmate shall carry his virtues. Come the day when they meet, they shall balance the scales between them.

He carves Sloth across his chest, for never once trying to stop his habits on his own.

He carves Wrath below that, between his pecs after having to flay the skin off a sinner with no commitment.

He carves Lust over his shoulder, where Their nails always bury through Their shared phantom pleasure. He will stave off the temptations of flesh, his beloved now his only true body.

He marks Greed into his inner thigh as he wishes for more. He wishes to meet Them, to find Them, to embrace Them. 

He carves Vanity into his hip, as he buys every lavish expense to make him home as awe worthy as possible for the day They arrive.

The Father warns that he must wait. 'They will come for him,' Joseph remarks although the statement is vague on whether or not he means for himself or John.

He understands on the day of Sermon, Joseph gathering his flock for a public preaching. They come in rounds, happy and proud, blessed and free from their sin. There are those who have yet atone, those who come to John with wide eyed adoration as he still carries his sins along with them. 

“One day, you will be clean. Strive for your virtues, learn from your soulmate's who, no doubt, carries with them the pardon’s for your misdeeds.”

Then, once the supper is cleared away and Joseph takes his stage. John feels trepidation, a sudden amount of uncertainty that has him worrying a nail across the meat of one of his hands. A comfort. A concern. 'Are you alright?'

He does not receive an answer before the doors of the church are swung open.

From there, the events spiral in a hurried series of gunfire and chaos. His world catches flames as the bringer of their end kicks into motion the beginnings of the Collapse. John is beneath himself, sorrow filling his stomach at the thought of the window so small and still, he has yet to meet Them.

A blessing reaches him, through this chaos however. Events correlate in a way that helps him know They are in Hope County. He only never realized before because of the peace. Funny, how war draws people together.

And then he knows that something is wrong. That they are either a member of the flock or a snake in the Resistance. His body becomes bruised, battered, littered with cuts and scars of claws from animals and wounds from close combat. Bullets are thankfully only grazes, save for that one blossom over his shoulder he has designed into a butterfly; the symbolism of soul.

He is then wrought again with grief as his oldest brother is slain first. Jacob's mountains shall be the tomb for his physical being but his spirit shall wait from them at Eden's Gate. It is then, that John finds his region attacked by the very same sickness and he readies his needles, he already knows the Deputy's sin. He knows it well. He sends his broadcast, feels nails digging into the palm of his skin and thinks nothing off it as he cuffs his hand around Deputy Hudson's throat. 

Of course, he had tested her. He had sent many of his men out to test the men and women of Fall's End, searching and slicing the flesh of any they pass for a reaction. It is all a test, he tells himself. He must be tested. They must be tested. He has long since marked Sloth off his chest, for his efforts for Eden's Gate yet, the sin is still there. He is lying to himself that he is doing this for Them. He is angry with Them for not coming to him. Surely, They know!?

His capture of the Deputy and then the subsequent escape of the Deputy leaves him waking up with a sore in his neck he excuses as simply stress and tossing in bed. Still, he gives his beloved a deep tissue squeeze, rewarded with his own. The tender act still has him angry, discouraged. He captures the Deputy once more after a week between her escape and finally...there is clarity.

"So," He claps his hand together, marveling in the sting it brings. "Who wants to go first?"

While Hudson's tear tracks still run with the leftover residue of her make, his other captive is proudly dry eyes. Pride. Another sin he shall make known for them and the world. See her wear her Pride with Pride.

"Which one, hm?" He hums, searching her form and taking note of the many pockets of her jeans; once stuffed with the many tools her men had taken away from her. Gluttony, too much and too many.

"This is lesson number one." And the Wrath builds in himself at her Sloth, as she refuses to take the first step and speak her colleague when she knows they can't. Hudson struggles and cries in futile over the duct tape securing her mouth and limbs.

"Someone's got to choose." She glare at him, eyes only shining with rage and stubbornness. It has his hand tightening over the tool sharpener with near cresting anger.

"Oh fuck it!" He screams, kicking down his work bench with a snarl and taking heavy step. "Let's start with you!" He hissed and takes a look over his shoulder at her friend.

"Now before we can begin. I think it's only proper that Deputy Hudson goes back to her room." He takes steps back and tosses the sharpener without a care across the room. The Deputy-Rook, as she comes to become known over the radio chatter, winces at the loud startling sound of the tool hitting the ground and he can't help but laugh at how still-faced she had been in comparison to the mess he made of his work bench.

"Confessions and meat to be private after all." He scoots Hudson closer, showing The Deputy what she can not have; the fear that is present in her friends eyes and the trauma done to her skin by his less than virtuous slip of the hand.

He shushes the whined and screams Hudson emits, the begging his prisoner grunts around the glued plastic over her mouth.

"I am not going to take your life, I am here to give it to you."

He looks to the Deputy and smiles as he saunters over, grabbing her by the shoulders and running his thumbs over her pulse. She is thin, small enough that he can easily loop his hands around her neck and carelessly put down pressure.

"I'm going to open you and pour your worst fears inside and as you choke," He tightens again, a breathless feeling in his throat he equates to the spur of the moment, the same tight sensations that comes with absolving his brothers and sisters, taking the sin from their flesh and mounting it to his wall. He feels a warm stir in his navel, a throb in his manhood at the slight fear that comes to the Deputy's eyes. He releases her, smirking as she starts to cough. "Your sins will reveal themselves."

"Only then will you truly understand the Power of Yes." He taunts her once more with another smirk, a flamboyant tip of his head that sent college girls swooning. Vanity will always carry with him.

"I'll be right back." And he pushes Hudson away.

Of course, she escapes. He is almost impressed for her sheer footed nature in getting out of danger and equally getting herself into it. He taunts her even more behind the security of his Bunker door. Promising her of her sin, goading her and taking the moment to feel as though he has allowed her this chance of escape. It's when he turns on the Bliss, allowing it to fill the vents and the halls that she understands there is no hope for saving her friend today. She punches the wall in frustration and John's hand twitches as a jolt of sharp pain bleeds over his knuckles. He stages his wide eyes as excitement when she flees, giving up her coworker in favor of a tactic retreat and John is left to sooth his hand over his smarting knuckles in doubt.

'No, it couldn't be...'

The next time he gets her is after she destroys the structure of his faith. The Hollywood Billboard that had been made by those so willing to atone, tumbles down as she ejects herself from her airplane, using it as the battering ram as parachuting safely to the ground. The collision breaks down the shadow he has cast over the sinners of Fall's End and fills him fury. He furiously paces the halls of his home with the radio gripped tightly in his hand. He promises her that she will rebuild it and groans as tight strings fit over his abdominal, around his arms and pulls taught.

He knows this feeling well, despite the scarce number of times he's ever had to experience it. He takes a seat on the couch, dropping the radio to run his fingers over the phantom lines made from parachute chords being snagged on branches. He denies it at first, licking his dried lips.

Two of VIP's enter the room to find him pouring his third glass of scotch and swallow it down with the dusted off skill of his college years. He shatters the glass in his hand, smiling as his fingers shake from the bloody cut in his palm and he rips the shard out with a deeply held groan. He knows this pain will carry for a day, that's all he needs. He throws the bottle into the fireplace, watching as flames jump and grow from the added fuel.

"Grab any gun and available man...I'm finishing this."

The anger is hot, as he has men staple crow after crow around the doors to the church. Despite his anger, this is after all, a momentous occasion. He scatters rose petals and lays down lace as Joseph has claimed over and over that he must love those that have sinned and John will. He has nothing but love for them as he bashes Father Jerome over the skull with butt of his pistol and grabs Mary May tightly by her wrists as he drives her head against the wall. His mother once told slamming the bible repeatedly over his crown and face.

'I hurt you cause I love you, honey.'

Nick Rye is brought forth equally beaten but John had made it very clear to his men not to harm a hair on Kim Rye. She would be their ringer for her husband’s confession and her child would come into the new world and thank him for Cleaning his parents.

John grins through grit teeth as the Deputy arrives just in time, opening the door and earning the collision of a fist to the face. John barks as the pain wrecks his forehead, facing him to stagger as his beloved falls to the ground and grabbed with the sure hands of his devote. Feeling and seeing them, with the knuckles going white around her arms has him shout at the sensation and sight of-wrong.

"Enough!" He states, coming forward as he pushes her to the ground himself. A single tear forms in his eyes as he presses her to the floor, feeling his own back ache in strain and chest flex under the exact place his hand is centered between her breasts, blood blooming to the surface as bruise in the making.

"Well now...I can scarcely believe it." He huffs, and takes away his hand to hold them above himself, reaching for the heavens in thanks.

"Such a joyous day! Not only will these sinners be cleansed but the other half of my soul has also arrived to cleanse me herself!" And his devote search between them with wide eyes, shock clearing from their faces to be replaced with joy and happiness.

"Father had said that you would join us, that it was meant to happen. He said that you would come for him. That you would come for me!" He grins, teeth exposed and then hidden under his lips as he frowns, the fear on her face, the horrors in her eyes kills the mood.

"Now now, beloved. Don't look at me like that." He smiles, and then picks open her shirt to see the harsh line of scars already marked into her flesh. They are faint but they are there. There is no need to mark her as she has already been claimed, has already been absolved by him of some of the worst sins committed.

"Our soulmate is meant to represent the virtues of our sins, even though they are without sin themselves. It is the partners duty to carry the burner, to share it between themselves so that after they are united they may come together and act as the balance for the scales." He explains and cups her face as she had gone stilled in shock. He tilts his head down, pressing his forehead to hers as a sign of peace and…

He kisses her lips, tenderly and softly even though she does not return the gesture, she does not push him away either.

"Because of this our Greed can become sacrifice and charity. Our sloth can become persistence and effort." He looks her dead in the eyes and continues. “Our Lust can become chastity. Our Gluttony can become temperance. We can turn Envy into kindness and Pride into humility.” A passionate speech that has his followers start to sob, Father Jerome, look on in confused horror, Mary May seem grief stricken and Nick in disbelief. John himself feels tears spill down his cheeks, he has finally found Them.

"Our Wrath can become forgiveness..."

And he kisses her again, laughing as she finally finds her bearings and thinks to bite into his lip. Their bond has become unified, their injuries no longer a ghost but a balancing point. Her own lips now bleeds as a result of her actions. Dawning realization washes off her features as she realizes what this means.

"I forgive you, darling~"

Till death, do we both together part.


	6. Jacob Seed - Deprive Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Anonymous: May I have Jacob/Female!Dep with some intense sensory deprivation? Just fuck me up, fam. Please.

This had been a long time coming, you could feel it in the air as you followed behind him in his shadow, clipboard in hand and hairs standing on end as looks down over his herd. There had been a gamble, a bet made and cashed-in that had your conscience releasing a big sigh of relief. Pratt was safe, you don't know where but Jacob had assured you of that much when you agreed to switch places with him. While you had been in no state to make demands or offers, the oldest Seed heard you out. He looked you up and down, holding off his decision until after he had watched you dance to his song.

Only You sounds a wonderful backdrop to your movements as you cut through the haze of weak and stupid, a knife and gun as your partner. Slow and methodical movements; the ticking of a broken clock that can stall and skip. You knew his decision had been made when you came through the Red with her wrists snatched by his, hunting knife inches away from his throat and tip beading blood to the surface of his neck. His blue eyes were wild, accepting. His teeth bared in an alpha sense of pride and whispers to you as though you were a thing of beauty.

"Good. Perfect."

You felt like you had a place. Jacob gave you that place. He moved you with sharp commands and gentle hands. Since then, something had clicked and became right. You don't know if it's the conditioning, although a walled off and ignored side of your brain shouts at you that it is-that this is wrong, but you don't care, you don't listen to that side anymore because Jacob wraps his hand around your neck like a collar. The testing thumb strokes over your pulse point with the softness of a lover and pressure is only applied when you deserve it.

When you are good, he is good to you. When you are bad...

Your breath exits through your nose in gust of labored pants. There is an ache in your jaw that creates a cramp in your cheeks. Used for horses is a cold bit wedged between your teeth, long since warmed by the heat of your tongue and mouth, and probably as shiny as a diamond with the slick wetness of your drool, spit overflowing and tracking down your chin. You can feel as your saliva beads and drops in cascade shaped dew before it would land and join the others on the floor, collapsing together to make an even being puddle of wet.

You cannot hear it make contact, lost in the lullaby of sounds that is your own blood flowing in your ears in the rumble and turn of a molten core. Tuned into that frequency is reminiscent of volcanic activity with rocks tumbling and cracking against the surface of your mental walls. Shattering through such a vivid and beautiful imagery is the sound of steady vibrations, warning of the eruption soon to come. Steady in rhythm most times and shattering in throbbing pulsations the next. Mother Earth does not control this bomb but Father Time does, with his finger on the trigger and hands over your ears in the form of soundproof muffs.

With the loss of your hearing, everything is already at standing end. Senses you took for granted before have now been deprived of you and leave you feeling lost, wandering, unbalanced and without direction. Your compass through this feral expanse of wilderness comes in the form of small but powerful sensations. 

The groaning taxation of your arms muscles as you are forced to keep your hands stretched high above your head. Your first landmark is lost as the heat of your cuffs wraps around your wrist, warmed from your own body temperature what once was a bitter and grounding cold now had now swiped the rug out from under you as it loses its purpose as purchase. 

Then it is the bars between your legs; a long rod that separates your thighs, showing you no mercy against your quivering limbs. The stretch is far enough for your hips to clench and the urge to shut against the trap is overwhelmingly futile. The bar is made to give under enough pressure, a kind of flimsy rubber that snaps back like a rubber band and only serves to drive your failed attempt back into your ego. It had quickly lost its appeal after what felt like the first hour.

Then, it is the tight and pinching pressure of whatever clamps over your nipples. A pinch of a bite, a sting of a burn yet as sharp as a razors edge. Your chest smarts with each little shift, even those as necessary as drawing breath. It is indifferent to your plight, uncaring and constant as presence. It had overstayed its welcome within the first few minutes but no amount of twisting or turning against them can be done in getting rid of their torturous snag.

All of these tools and more has the hairs of your skin start to stand on end as you feel a sharp coil in your stomach start to wind. Despite the vice grip of leather around the fat of your neck, you begin to plead; shaking your head with lackluster as your own skull feels to heavy to move. It does not stop the inevitable, merely wastes what little energy that is left for you to cling to. 

Your teeth grit down on the metal bit, using it as leverage as the air is sorely knocked out of you and you are coerced into lazily rolling your hips to sharp grind of inner heat. Your thighs tremble as fresh slick slides down between your legs to join and add to the pool steadily growing beneath you.

Your breaths are as hot yelps for mercy, groans of deprivation and pleading for solace from the continuous assault of your loins. Any lath of your tongue against the bit erupts into more slobber coating your chin and drooling past your collar bone, the gag doing its job at keeping you quiet.

You tighten your fingers into a weak fist as another wave of pleasure zips through your body from your toes to the very ends of your hair follicles. You whine like a bitch, high pitched and broken as your vision goes a sparking white while your ankles lock against your will, the spreader bar resists all your efforts to clamp your legs closed and once more returns them to their open stance, prostrating you before the harsh and hardly cool air.

You want nothing more that to lay down, to nap and regain all this time and energy that's been wasted. You start to break into sniffles as the dam of your worries and worst fears begins to open its levies, salty works rewet the track already dried on your cheeks and the minor fight you had put up shook you free of most if not all the sweat that had mist your skin, starting you over fresh once more for the third time since this torture began.

The wet floor under the pads of your bare feet, forced to stand in your own juices, begin to shake in tempo matched to that of work boots clopping against the hardwood. Your hopes begin to weakly swell as well as die. Jacob was back, Jacob was back with his thumb on the dial and probably looking you over as though you were a choice steak on market. You imagine his hand brushing through his beard in consideration, whether to return you back to the chopping block or take you home for dinner.

You feel a bead of sweat trail down your lower back before becoming lost into the pucker of your ass, that too has been stuff full of shaking pleasure.

You cannot tell if he is in front of you or behind you, whether he is to your left or your right. He may not even be in the room at all, embarrassment floods you at the thought of one of his soldiers being ballsy enough, Judas enough to walk in unannounced, to see you on display and spoiled with the sight of your glistening and defeated body. Pride then swells at the mental reprimand that no, Jacob would not do that. You are his and his alone. His trophy and prize to swell over. His trophy-his trophy to display. 

Whether it is his or not, you have little choice but to accept the touch that glides up your spine, sending pricks of pins and needles coursing through your nervous system and assaulting your brain with desperation for more, not enough, too much, all at once. A suffered whine pleads from your lips, filtered into a noise that would cause a dog to quirk its head. You listen for him as hard as you are able, try to pick out a single sound through the chorus of rumbling and mixing but only serve deafen yourself further into the deep toiling, the echoes of the toy inserted inside you as is turns and bumps and grinds into that one spot that has you seeing the brief color of a firework spark behind the dark folds of your silk blindfold.

Because Jacob had said that even a rough man such as himself enjoys the soft things in life, promising you even softer things as he withdrew the single black sheet of fabric from the trunk under his bed. A lecherous grin on his fuzzed face, held it up to your mouth long enough for you present it with a single kiss.

Impossibly, you hear him repeat his soft words from earlier today, -yesterday, tomorrow, how long?- It burns the tips of your ears and echo's with deep rumbling that further rewinds the coil in your gut.

"All the strength in the world is wasted on someone who lacks control." He whispered, locking you in your present cage with a small silver key clipped and joined to the chain of his tags. "I hold your reins. I hold your control. I hold your strength. Let me do this for you. Give all of your power over to me and I will craft out of you the most beautiful weapon in the world."

Then, what could be equivalent to love swelled in your chest as he offered you this paradise. Now, you want to curse his name, to cry and strangle him but the fight would be lost. You can do little but quiver as his warm hands finally startle the skin, the barest and brief pass of his knuckles against your cheeks as he grasps the safety earmuffs from around your head and pulls them off.

The attack of sound overwhelms you, whips your across the face as you can hear dogs barking through the walls, footsteps of soldiers march across the field and a chorus of murmuring from the mess hall. You hear his own skin, stitch and mold as a grin cracks his lips. You hear the shift and scratch of his clothes as the fabric threads strain under movement. HIs boots carry pebbles and rocks in their grip, clattering and marking the floor with each step. Your sigh quickly turns into a sharp inhale of trepidation.

Then, he starts to talk. The timber of his voice colliding against you like a tsunami wave and carries you away to a world of sudden white noise-noise-noise. You can still hear the rumbling of the toy, the clatter of the chains, the flex of the spreader bar clamped around your ankles and the groan of the leather belt around your neck.

"Rise and shine, sweetness." Rise and shine? Rise and shine?

Fear overcomes you as you feel the phantoms of hunger in your stomach, long forgotten against the overwhelming dig of pleasure in the pits of your gut.

If Jacob takes away anything from the sharp inhale your make around the bit it's that you choke so pretty as you clumsily breathe in a bit of slobber. His hands act as a lifeline around the back of your head, the pressure of the bite tightening just a second before falling away and your teeth loudly clack together, no longer having any force to keep them back.

"There we go." He says, the belt buckle clicking as he sets it down on his desk. Your soft murmur of nonsense is wispy on your lips. Calloused and practiced fingers brushing through your sweaty locks and eases your head back, your chin up. You hear the swill of water turning in the canteen before he holds the mouth of the jug up to your lips, guiding you to part and take steady swallows of the drink. You thirst. You gulp, you waste the hydrant ambrosia as more tears leak from your trapped eyes. His hand never leaves your head, soothing back your hair in pets like one would a dog and cupping your chin to swipe away the salty drops with the rough skin of his thumb.

"That's it." He praises, taking away your oasis to lathe a finger across your lips, gathering whatever is left and pushing it through into your mouth. You suck on the digit in earnest for the taste of your own salt blended with his on your tongue.

"Did you have fun while I was gone, soldier?" You worry the pad of his thumb between your teeth, jaw smarting as you willingly grab for something to replace the bit, sudden and thought shaking that you would want it back. A huff is broken and wheezy stream of air, throat constricting and voice weak from disuse. His greeting still swims in your mind; rise and shine, had you fallen asleep? Had it been a day? The tick, tick, tick of the block mounted on the wall above is bed is suddenly deafening and pounds behind your eyelids.

Jacob awaits patiently for your answer to his question. You respond well by simply letting gravity take over as you lean your head forward, your overtaxed muscles allowing it to bob as a weak excuse of gestured compliance. This seems acceptable enough for him as he sounds an almost warhorse snicker. Your skin jumps as the tips of his fingers guides down your chest, your skin alight in flames as he draws the nail of his index closer and closer to your left nipple before snagging one of he claps around the sore and no doubt red, bud.

"Breathe, cadet." You intake more than your lungs can handle as a sharp pain instinctively urges your to cross your legs but the spreader holds fast and you are left with your teeth clamping down over your bottom lip. Your whimper bleeds to a moan as the clip is drawn off your nipple and toss aside somewhere to skid across the ground. "Such a good reaction. Such a sweet sound."

You feel yourself throb between your legs at the praise, the earnest and honest sing of compliments.

You feel his lips brush against yours in a pucker of a kiss. The scratch of his beard runs across your face and burns pleasantly against your skin. You return the kiss weakly, opening your mouth to the swipe of his tongue and moaning around it as he coils and plays with you like the toy you are. He separates from you with a smack, exhaling a coffee flavored breath across your face.

God, it really has been a whole day. You choked sob earns a shush and coo.

"Come on now, almost there. Give Daddy another moan, won't you?" You sniffle, nodding defeatedly as he draws his fingers over to your other nipple and rewards you with the same sensations as before.

Except this time, the coil springs undone and your lower back snaps up as he betrays your trust, pulling the clamp instead of releasing it. Your hungry cunt throbs in pleasure, walls quivering for more and choke sob wailing out through the room, sounds of euphoria as he pulls and pulls until the pin slips off. You stand on the tips of your toes as your climax rolls through you like a steam train, powerful and boss leveled compared to those that have come before.(edited)  
You feel the air shift in front of you, Jacob's step as he retreats back just enough to soak in your released and glowing visage. Your cheeks cherry hot and eyebrows pulled taunt underneath the silk patch. Your lips are part in a semiperfect o shape and shoulders sagging with each deep breath.

And your legs.

He lets out an appreciate groan of his own, hand briefly roaming down to cup at the hardness formed in his jeans at the sight of you broken and beautiful. The results of having been completely under his spell is in trails down the inside of your legs, a sheen of your juices running past the taped cord of the bullet stuffed in your cunt and vibrating against that special spot. The scratchy fabric of the drenched panties he made you wear is the only thing keeping the toy from slipping out, that and the no doubt vice of your insides.

He rolls his hand down his pocket to feel for the remote and draws it out, placing a thumb on the dial. He could be merciful and turn it off but he's had you playing musical chairs between five and three for the past two hours and wants to see just how much longer he can keep this game running.

With eager eyes and curiosity chomping for what would no doubt be a candy sweet treat, he turns the dial to eight, pupils dilating wide in delight as your form snaps against the chains and suddenly spasms with pleasure. Your face contorts in a scream, shaking the room in a tone of painful bliss as you turn to and faro against the chains holding you up. Your knees knock together as you push against the bar but are forced back into position, bumping and grinding your hips into thin air in the makeshift attempt to hump into the phantom dick, stuffed but not enough into the folds of your womanhood.

He choked his own groan as he's forced to unlace his belt, buckle clattering as stuffs his hands down his pants begins to rapidly jack his dick. He stumbles over closer to you and drops the remote in favor of grabbing your hips, stepping over the spreader bar and then stuffing himself into your sopping wet entrance. The pleasure is instant, his jaw dropping at the sheer quiver your inside make around him and nearly has his eyes bulging out of his head.

"God, oh my god." He groans, falling to rest his forehead against your collar bone and taking a bite. "Holy fuck, babygirl. So-" He doesn't even finish his thought, growl ripping through him like an animals. You have been reduced to single words, gagging through your tears in hiccups cut short through even syllable.

"Daddy. Please." A wretched moan. "Jacob. Please. Please." You shake your head, you nod your head, you shake your head. You grind down against him as best you can as another surge of delight rams into you with the added guide of his hips. His cock, spearing and thrusting deeper and deeper until you feel the slicing prod and nudge against the bullet, pressing it against the block of your cervix. You voice cuts out into unintelligible babble, thighs gripping tights around her Heralds hips and tugging him as close as possible.

He is likewise in no better shape, your pillar of support crumbling in a fraction of a second with a howl of raged euphoria as he mercilessly grinds into you. The rumbling toy pressed against the head of his dick and pulling from him, jet after jet of cum deep into your womb. His own legs shaking from the force of his climax and his lower back starts protesting against the sudden physical exercise. The rips of overstimulation has him clenching his jaw as he pulls back, nearly stumbling as the spreader back catches the back of his ankles. He toes off his boots, shucking off his pants with an annoyed grumble and quickly begins to search for the remote he had carelessly tossed away.

You choked and broken screams has him diving under the bed for the pink device, turning off the toy just as you begin to snap your fingers in a tell of stop, a demand and gut wrenching declaration of your safe signal. He quickly snaps off the spreader around your ankle, wrapping his arm around your hips as he unlocks your from your chains and rips off the blindfold, cradling your head to his chest in sudden fear that he's lost you for good.

He backs himself up with you in his arms as he sits with his back to the wall, pressing kiss after kiss to any available spot on your face. You pants, broken coughs of tears into the hair of his chest, fingers weakly grasping as his muscles as the aftershocks of the best and worst climax run through the both of you.

"Too much." You whimper.

He hums likewise, apologies on his lips but too afraid to say them, settling on licking up your tears instead and using the bedsheets to clean up the mess trailing out from between your legs. There is a bowl of water and a rag on the bedside table but in the hurried spur of the moment, he neglected it until now. Grabbing the soft cloth he lays you on your back and swabs wet after wet pass over your heated skin in effort to both cool and clean you off. When he gets to holding the cool rag against your throbbing cunt is when you whimper.

"I know. I know. This is the worst part, okay?" You hum in acknowledgment, groaning as he thumbs at the tape before pulling the dead bead of world-rocking from the sucking lips of both your snatch and ass, digging his fingers in the cool water before lathing it over your openings.

He considers tossing the toy into the trash but sets it beside the bowl instead. When you are both more mentally inclined is when he will ask for your decision. For right now, he grabs the canteen and helps you again take steady gulps of the sugar water. When you are properly hydrated is when he turns over beside you, keeping you wrapped and pinned close and he buries his face into your sweaty hair. He wide eyes the wall as he plays over the scenario in his head, replying the act to study what he could have done differently, better, preventing you from snapping your fingers.

For starters he could have not thrown away the remote. That was stupid.

"H-Has it really been a day?" He shakes, his head. When he realizes that your eyes are still closed he verbally grunts.

"No, Sweets. It's only been four hours." Your lips part in a relieved sigh and your weakly swat him on his left tit.

"Don't...Can you please not do that again?"

Instantly, he replies. "Done, anything else?"

You hesitate, not from fear but from exhaustion that snatches away at your thoughts. Subspace catches up fast, nice and warm and safe in Jacob's arms as he practically rocks you to sleep.

"K-Keep the toy."

He smirks against the crown of your head.

"What color are we at, Sweets?" You huff, fingering the collar around your neck absentmindedly as sleep begins to call you into its embrace. A copy of Jacob's own tags hangs from the silver loop along with your own carefully made badge depicting a rabbit outcropped by blackberry branches.

"Green as the fucking grass, Daddy."


	7. Joseph Seed - Closed Confessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> scalettaseed asked:  
> Y'know, it would be quite great to see Joseph eating out f!Dep and then her returning the favor (maybe a handjob with some sinful whispering into his ear) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Joseph has read from the verses of the apostle Paul. He has studied them closely since meeting his second and first 'true wife.'

“The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.”

The Kingdom of God. His Kingdom: Eden’s Gate, in which God has spoken to him and commanded, open the doors to all those who would have Faith and be willing to atone. It would be their peace, their promised salvation as the end times come and cleanse the world of all it’s impurities by the man-made or man themself.

“Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins people commit are outside their bodies, but those who sin sexually sin against their own bodies. Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.”

Honor God, honor Him. He honors Him as he honors her, dipping his tongue between the folds of her cunt, lapping at her sweet ambrosia and gliding through her entrance with dexterity and desi-love. He must not and will not confuse the two.

“It is God’s will that you should be sanctified: that you should avoid sexual immorality; that each of you should learn to control your own body in a way that is holy and honorable, not in passionate lust like the pagans, who do not know God.”

It is controlled. It is God’s will. They are betrothed, to be wed under the order of the new world. Since the moment she was born, God has decreed her his. All she had was to say ‘yes’ and John had easily converted her with Power. He slips a band over her finger in the form of a braided clover and likewise, she Christians him as hers the second she had slapped the cuffs around his wrist.

She now sings a tune of love and Hail Mary’s, her fingers dancing through his locks as she pulls and unfurls beneath his appetite.

The Bible does not provide a specific list of acts that constitute “sexual immorality,” but the verses, also written by Paul, constituted thus;

“It is good for a man not to have sexual relations with a woman. But because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband. The husband should give to his wife her conjugal rights, and likewise the wife to her husband. For the wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does. Likewise the husband does not have authority over his own body, but the wife does.”

He smiles as she moans, hips bucking back into his mouth as he kisses and sucks upon her petal, lathing his tongue over the nervous bundle in flicks before taking her into his mouth and delivering a furious assault.

“Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer; but then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control.”

They had both agreed, this would be best. The momentary reprieve that they would each find comfort in and then rejoice. John always kept his needles clean and willing to Baptist after hours. He would not ask, merely look between them with knowledge before marking over a bare patch of flesh.

She had asked him before he sheds her of her shirt, ”Will God forgive us for having sex before marriage?” He smiles, asking himself that very same question before pressing his hands to her bare chest and feeling her heartbeat flutter under the swipes of his thumbs.

“The Bible says God will forgive any sin if a person sincerely repents and also forgives other people”

God would forgive him, Joseph tells himself. God has blessed them.

The Scripture; Holy as it is, was written by men. Men as human beings make mistakes, misinterpret, and sometimes confuse self-opinion with righteousness. He knows that there are not those in the world without flaws, he himself carries his sins on his flesh. He harbors Pride, Sloth, Lust, and Gluttony. His brothers and sisters, in both blood and spirit, harbor their likewise burdens. Even his beloved Deputy saddles the weight of Wrath upon her chest.

That is why they both cling to each other: her ankles linked behind his head like a chain, keeping him close to her second heart and closer still to bury between her folds like the starving man he is. He own arms wrapped around her hips and thumbs soothing over her hipbone in comfort to the shudders that wreck her frame. Her teeth chatter, her fingers tore between pulling or pushing his hair back, cooing like a matron.

Her wedding dress in the form of her Sunday best and his Easter Mornings are throw across the room, hung precariously on whatever they landed.

“J-Joseph.” He hums as she tugs one of his hands downwards to join him and he quickly begins to stroke what his mouth cannot reach. Rook groans, as his tongue points white hot pressure against her walls and strokes her inner cavity with the obsessive attention of a man at worship. His thumb brushing against her clit and circling, her moans quickly become choked and high pitched.

The door is locked and closed but he reminds her to stay quiet with a retreat and eager nip to her inner thighs, sucking blooms to her skin.

“Please,” She groans, untangling her hands from his head to cup him by his cheeks and run a finger over the juices still glistening on his mouth. “Please, Joseph. Father please.” He groans as his dick throbs to the whispered exhale of his title, tilting his head into her touch and nodding solemnly.

“How can I not, when you ask me like that?” He replies, unlatching her legs from around his neck and holding them up. He scoots forward, resting his cock over her clit and then locking her limbs around himself, pressing her legs together and then holding them to the side as he grinds into the warmth of her heat, bumping the head of his cock along her flower with each turn of his hips.

He never enters, he cannot. It will not be until the day of Reckoning, when they are both allowed past the Gates and at the side of God that they will truly be able to consummate their marriage. Until then, this will have to tide them both, bumping and grinding against each other in gasps and throes of ecstasy as she tightens her thighs around him and reaches to slip her thumb over the leaking bulb of his dick with each pass.

He hisses as she brings her wet fingers to her mouth and laps at the milk like a kitten. The sight causing heat to spread further through his loins and quicken his pace.

“Yes. Such a filthy mouth to catch my seed.” He pants and grinds hard, his sack pressing against her entrance and coming away with strings of wet to drag him back. The clap of his skin against hers further adding fuel to the fire in his belly. “Do you want it, my eve?” Rook nods, mouth open and eyes glazed with adoration as the muscles in his neck begins to flex with execration, his arms shake as he holds her legs up.

“Can you come like this, darling? Are shall you have my mouth again? I must admit…Ngh. I don’t know if I can give that before my own end.”

He groans in frustrated loss as she releases her thighs from around him, locking back behind and then urging him forward. His hand falls between her legs to once again begin to service but she slaps them away, grabbing him by his hips and drawing him over her chest to press the girth of his cock into her mouth.

“Oh, child.” He sighs, bucking into the hot cavity of her throat as she swallows his hole, bobbing her head in mercy towards his rising climax. “Sweet, sweet, dear-heart. You spoil me. Ah…You’re so good for me.” He hisses as the faintest pass of her teeth, accidental or perhaps not, brushes over his shaft and still at the flare just before his head. He cannot help but throb between her jaws, causing the pressure to pinch. He exhales a steady breath as he makes his muscles contract and dick flex to recreate the feeling again and again. The idea of her biting down around him sends a zip up his spine and his knees buckling as he struggles to press himself closer, cupping her head with gentle yet shaking hands.

His rosary beads crackle together softly beside her ear as he smiles at her, eyes wet with awe and a devotion to rival that of his Lord. He will confess this blasphemy at another time, after the waves the have crest and their love making is complete.

“Take all of me, dear one. Swallow me down and swallow it all.” He hurries as she opens her throat to him, releasing him from her teasing teeth and choking around him in tear shedding gulps. The flutter of her throat has him buck his hips gently further down her wet cavity, with a high note of bliss leaving his mouth. He sees her hand out of the corner of his eyes, one wrapped around him and the other dropping to rub at her heat. He hisses, grabbing her arm to keep her from reaching her end, tutting through his clenched teeth with playful disappointment.

“Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, to make you obey its passions.” He preaches as he gives another thrust into her mouth. “Patience is a virtue, dear heart. That treat is for me to savor.” She groans around him, the vibrations finally causing his lower back to snap forward and grind as his hands cup behind her head and hold.

“Steady, lovely. Steady. D-Do this for me? May I?” She nods her head, albeit a little difficult with his hands locking her in place. He then proceeds to fuck her mouth in hurried rocks of his hips, cutting off his own voice with hurried chokes of pleasure as he feels the coil of his coming climax spring free and bounce.

His wretched sob of release is like a crying man pleading for salvation. She flexes her throat and clenches around him as her cheeks go a strained purple, eyes brimming and overflowing with tears as she chokes and swallows shot after shot of cum. Her body begins to shake, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her hand and her fist slams against the bed, clenching at the blankets and legs opening beneath him. Her hips roll on thin air, pussy clenching on nothing but need and desire. Joseph yet releases her, rocking gently in turns of his hips as he rides her face through the surge.

“Not yet, breath darling. Nice and deep through yours nose. Give me another swallow, hm?” And Rook does, hard and broken around him that earns an appreciative groan and another jet of cum down into her gullet. “Good girl.” He sniffs, wiping is own tear of pleasure from his eyes.

“Such a good girl. Get all of it now. It would be a sin to waste a single drop.” When the contractions finally stop, he releases her and cups her cheeks as she sobs, sniffling like a babe after a spanking.

“Hush, love. It’s alright. Was I too rough? What’s wrong?” She shakes her head and he catches note of her hips still undulating, riding the air as if fucking a phantom. He smiles, seeing the cause for her stress and sits back to press her down at her crotch, sliding his hand between her folds and roughly curling two fingers into her. The stretch has her weep and his eyes widen at the sudden quick tremble her walls squeeze around his fingers before his lover starts to shake.

She goes lax, legs spread open and head thrown back against the pillows as the aftershocks of her own orgasm run through her.

Joseph smiles, withdrawing his hand and sucking the fingers into his mouth with a groan of rapture. He releases his fingers to run the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, her mouth still open in gasps for air.

“Soon my, love. Soon and you will be able to cum around more than just my fingers. Until then, this is the only length we can allow ourselves to go.” He smiles, reaching to grab his sunglasses that perch on the roof of her head like a decoration-a halo. “Understand?”

Rook nods as he slides the yellow frames over her eyes before rolling over to lay beside her, grabbing her hand to hold it in his. She licks her lips contently tasting the after flavor that is simply just Joseph and sighs through her nose as he brings up their conjoined hands to lay a single kiss over her knuckles.

“T'would be a sin, otherwise.”


	8. Staci/Jacob Adapt and Overcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Be nice to actually take a walk."
> 
> Jacob's eyes light up, an eyebrow quirked as he taps his foot on the ground. He looks Staci over, paused from cleaning his gun.
> 
> "And just what have you done lately that makes your feel like you've earned that privilege?"
> 
> Staci considers his options.

Staci Pratt is proud to admit that he's fooled around during his college days. He's done enough exploring to figure what he likes and what he doesn't, easily able to lay down rules before any quick fuck he's found on Grinder. His sexuality is a living seesaw, his dick the balancing point between swinging for a hot wet cunt to stuff his cock into or a thick meaty dick to satisfy the ache between his legs.

It took a number of times, condoms, and cough drops before his gag reflex flew the coop and considering his situation, it helps to score brownie points with Jacob Seed and Jacob Seed is by far the biggest that Staci's had to swallow. He's thick, he's half as long as his forearm, and he's cut. Staci has to hold his breath and bear down to get the man entirely into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he gives a hard swallow around the girth and allows the gummy tears to run down his cheeks without shame.

His knees hurt from his position on the floor, one arm wrapped around Jacob's left of his spread legs and the other fisting the jeans he is still wearing. The zipper fly of the fatigues dig irritant into Staci's nose as he lunges back and forth. His own spit and drool dab the floorboards with each pass as the saliva pools down his chin, each stroke gathering more as his obscene sucks sound through the room in chorus with Jacob's panting and rough groans. 

The man never moans, always husky and deep grumbles of praise and sharp hisses through his teeth. His chest practically vibrates with a rumble as Staci withdraws, releasing Jacob's pant to thumb at the head of his cock and stretch back his foreskin, circling his tongue around the sensitive flesh.

As he tongues the head of his warden's cock, he slips his hand back down giving himself a squeeze through the fabric of his pants and moans like a slut on xVideo as he throbs against the friction, the stiff confines of his jeans tight enough to keep him uncomfortably pinned to his leg but with each little twitch the pressure adds up to pleasure.

A yank of his hair has his hand retreating back in place. He gives Jacob a look from under his lashes, flashing his teeth at the obvious demand to get back to work and swallows him back down to the fine hairs growing on his crotch.

"Lucked the fuck out with you didn't I, Peaches?" Jacob was a talker, a flaunter. A peacock that displayed his feathers in dirty talk and clenched fists, pulling at Staci's locks like personalized handlebars. He didn't mind, Staci liked someone who could verbalize their inner most filthy desires and Jacob was as much a pro a saying what was on his mind than Staci was at getting more of his dick down his throat.

"W-Who'd a known that little-Fuck! Staci Pratt was such a slut for cock? Hmm? Thaaat's it ." Staci himself, always felt satisfaction at hearing such a strong man reduced to stammering demands, as Jacob's leg starts to shake under Staci's palm.

In fact, Staci himself was a dirty talker. His mouth curling in a distorted smile around the stretch of meat in his mouth, his tongue running along the underside vein and dipping to act as a smooth channel for Jacob's dick. Flesh knocked against his tonsils and the taste of precum reminded him of his abulia's homemade ice cream, too much salt and not enough sweet. He pulled back enough to free up the space in his mouth and began to roll his tongue, reciting fanciful r's of spanish slang like bad middle-school Romeo and Juliet. It cause Jacob's back to fold, his teeth to bare and his hand to pull snags at Staci's head.

"Y-You sweet little-FUCK!" And Pratt hums, swallowing again twisting his head from side to side as to nuzzle the fur of Jacob's pubes and searched out his hands, guiding Jacob to release his hair and cup him by the throat, feeling the obvious bulge of his own cock breaching down as Staci sounds a sharp click, oral muscles flexing around his cock. 

"God. Fuck! T-The things I want to do to you. S-Should do-Should fuck you down into the maaaa-ther fucker!" And the grip around his throat goes tight, Jacob's other hand brushes a tear from Staci's eye, then slides to cup the back of his head.

And his hips finally begin to jerk, he finally starts to face fuck Staci like his own personal flesh light and Staci? Staci moans, Staci tips his head further back and goes limp, eyes closing and head rushing into a wonderful white playground as he listens to his own blood thrum in his ears.  
His crotch throbs as Jacob's thrusts and struggling movements cease. His hips seizing as his back goes taut and the veins of his neck bulge red. Staci watches with wonder-lust eyes as Jacob's cheeks flare an exhausted pink, his chapped lips stretched and teeth bared through the best and worst of the pulsations. 

Jacob growls through his climax like a wolf and Staci gobbles what he is served, wishing he could feel the heaviness of Jacob's cum as it settles into his stomach. It lasts for as long seven seconds, one for each sin before Jacob withdraws. His dick slips from Staci's mouth with a wet sound, the thinnest cord of spit keeping them chained before it breaks off with the squeak of protest from the collapsing office chair as Jacob takes his throne.

Staci licks his swollen lips, jaw aching and mind lost in the subspace as he drops his hands to his lap, palming the wet stain formed on his jeans as his dick continues to jump, releasing the last few squirts of cum on the inside of his thigh.

It takes a few more seconds before Staci is able to feel his tongue again, before his mind is back in a place of reason and he blinks up at Jacob, eyebrows pulled together.

"Well?"

Jacob breaths out sharp enough to whistle, cock still giving small jerks as the aftershock of his orgasm has yet to finish running through him.

“Deal’s a deal, you’ll get more privilege but don’t get a big head about it. It’s gonna take more than sucking my dick before I trust you to go anywhere on your own around here.”

Staci’ll take it. It’s better than being constantly handcuffed to a cot at the end of Jacob’s bed. Who knows, he might finally be allowed to sleep in an actual bed.

It’s been two weeks, he’s fine with working up to that.


	9. Jacob Seed - We're All Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate Promts: Each person has a spirit animal that can lead you to your soulmate.

The world is a wild and dangerous place. Filled with both animals who share bared teeth and sharp claws. Human beings themselves share their ancestry with animals, it is why they are born with one in their shadow, a spirit that is meant to bring together prey and predator in order to grant peace and harmony during these feral times. These spirits are meant to guide as well as protect, raise you as well as shelter you. As war constantly looms on the horizon, it is instinct to find a mate, to flee the danger, the flourish in love. They stand beside you, invisible to all others besides you and the one meant to be yours. 

You are five when you are first able to clearly realize that your spirit, or rather, your soulmates spirit, is a deer. It is bigger than you, already. While you had just learned how to clearly read correctly, your soulmate may as well already have been starting high school, maybe he already is out of school all together. You know it to be a he...a boy…a man, as the fawn is just beginning to sprout antlers and the spots across its flank beginning to fade. As small as you were, you could not help but feel intimidated by its size as the creature approaches you across the backyard, snout sniffing the air as it takes tentative step after step closer.

You were young, you were scared. Most people your age had a spirit animal of like size, yours was so big, you couldn’t help but be afraid. You screamed and yelped as your sudden shout spooks the creature and causes it to jerk, long legs kicking out and over you. It forces you to fall backwards and hit the porch, your head bumping the stairway and knocking you out cold. You remember hooves stamping, a low bleat, and pressure on your chest in the form of two prongs stamping down over your ribs. It’s a phantom pain that when you wake up with your parents concerning over you, has you rubbing your chest in wonder at the feeling that was both there and not there at all.

Since then, near the end of elementary school, you have been afraid of deer. You know it means you no harm, watching over you in your sleep from its curled up post at the foot of your bed. It guards over your shadow, clopping behind you between classes and patiently snouts your back as you fetch books from your locker. It stares you down during third period with eyes that know too much for one as young as yourself. 

It is unnerving and as you reach your early teenage years, unwanted as you reach that age were you rebel against anything laid in front you. Your chest thrums with the phantom bruises it had left as a child. At middle school age, it is now big enough that should such an incident happen again, it could easily destroy your rib cage. But it won’t, the physical ed teacher going into the lesson of the soul and how one day, the individual creatures shall lead them to their chosen. You turn your nose up, looking over the deer and huffing at it’s now fully grown rack of antlers. No one ever tells you how to feel about a soulmate who’s likely twice your age. No ever talks about it, they can't see it, they don't know but kids still go on, telling each other about their phantom anyways.

You sit at lunch when one girl starts to bother you. "Mine is a stallion. Big and black, bright blue eyes. He's so pretty." You grumble in affirmation as she goes on and on, leading the others to talk about it. "What's yours?" You stare at her, look at the creature behind her that seems ready to charge, picking up on your irritation and morphing into something dark, its fur turn dark and antlers seeming to become as sharp as knives.

One single red eye, trailed on her back, like a sniper's scope.

"Mine's a monster."

They leave you alone after that.

It is the summer fair and you sequester yourself away from the crowd of your peers as they aww and coo at the petting zoo animals. This field trip has you feeling only more and more tense around your spirit companion, as the small goats and rabbits do nothing but dart away from you the second you take step. The horses are spooked as you attempt to pet their manes, the pigs squeal and run. You’ve given up, knowing any more attempts would likely cause an accident and stick to the shade as you watch the others enjoy their time with the animals. One lone sheep dog watches you from the small circle of lambs that roam around, its eyes avoiding you and looking directly to the towering cervidae beside you, resting on its haunches in the grass and keeping you company. It sitting down, its size dwarfs you. The length of regular deer on its knees and standing, a Dodge truck.

By now, you are alone and have no one but it to look towards for company. Like those years ago, in your backyard and resting on the porch, you watch as it somewhat plays with the family dog, bucking its antlers as though it is a sparring mate. Animals have always known about spirits, able to cross the barriers between visible and non. Unlike those as that petting zoo, your german shepard is never afraid of the stag, yipping after it joyfully. You swallow your nerve and click your tongue for it’s attention, rewarded swiftly as its red eye locks onto you. It has changed a little, its legs marred with patched burns that it stops to lick once in a while. You have seen holes form on its flank, dropping blood on the ground to stain in a way only you can see. A shared sense of wounds, so that whoever your soulmate may be, you learn of their injuries. You reach your hand out, much like you had as a child but this time you won’t scream. It stamps up with a gust of air out its muzzle, as though chastising you for the long wait before bumping your palm with it’s snout. It's matted black coat feels more like feathers than fur and invisible scar tissue quivers under your touch.

A peace has been found since then. You are preparing for bed your first year of high school, brushing your hair while laid against it. A phantom heat burns from its skin, warming your back and making you feel wanted. Its tongue is like sandpaper against your arm as it makes its mutual attempts at grooming you. You giggle, playing your brush through the rough hair/feathers between its antlers and laughing when it lets out what sounds like some form of purr. The peace is then disturbed as it lets out a pained scream, a loud and shrill shriek that has you covering your ears and groaning as the volume forces your head to throb. It kicks, shaking its head and bucks, you are forced away for cover.

By the time it stills, you can only star in horror as it’s stomach lays open, guts on display but held with barbed wire. Its dusty black coat now heaves with each breath, and its antlers decorated with viscera, strung up like Christmas tinsel. The peace lasted less than a year before you are now once again, terrified to even so much as acknowledge it.

It’s not until your senior year of high-school that contact is once again made. Since then, the wounds only get worse, the stag only gets bigger, the blood only gets thicker. Across the commons area is a military sign up booth and a hot breath fans over the back of your neck. Your hands quiver as bladed and bloody antler brush against your back, leading you to smile nervously at the camouflage officer and sign his sheet. Your parents are less supportive when you begin to pack your things, asking you what gave you the idea of signing up in the first place. You give your ghastly companion another look, another chance, and tell them that it just felt right.

Much like how it just felt right for you to be stationed on some all american unit. Much like how it felt right for you to be dropped in the middle of a firefight. Much like how it felt right to be taking shots from your perch on the roofs, you single red scope matching your companions red eye as it changes your enemies in a phantom display of dominance. A gruesome pair the two of you make, even though it’s only what you do that can be seen. You catch a glimpse once, of a field of slaughtered spirit folk belonging to those whose soulmates you have taken your enemies from. That’s just how it works. Death wears antlers.

You are relieved of duty after five years. An honorable discharge on account of a shot to your shoulder, can’t hold a gun anymore without fucking it up even worse. You settle for it. The PTSD it kept at bay with the feeling of feathers and fur at your bedside. Your parents are not relieved to have you home, worried about your far off stair as you watch your stag limp closer to the borders of your homes territory. It urges you to follow, stamps growing louder and louder every day you don’t.

Until one day you do, following it until you reach a small town in Montana. You find another war, another bullet fight, another situation that has your stag bucking and rearing back on its legs, stamping down spirit after spirit as you painfully take shots at those that fired first. You reach the mountains, worried and walking in front rather than behind your limping stead.

The closer you get to predator vs prey, the closer they get to death. They job will be done, their purpose will be fulfilled. There will no longer be a need for them.

One final fight.

It is between him and a white wolf that comes barreling out of the Veterans Center before you. Your soulmates spirit gives one last and final hoorah as its cloven hooves arch above from behind you, kicking back the rapid animal and stomping down. You hear a snap, the ghost of what could have been all those years ago. The wolf foams blood at its mouth and its body turns to dust, dead and gone. A breeze picks up from behind, a cold snout and warm breath that disappears, a goodbye. You feel something inside die and at the same time, watching the front doors of the Center open, come back to life stronger than before.

The man you learn is Jacob Seed, walks out from the compound with a rifle over his shoulder, a snipers sight you know the be red. He walks towards you with a gait that is remarkably similar to the long legs of your companion. The man stopping to stand before you.

You take a deep breath, holding out you hand to his face and look him over.

He gives you a smirk, leaning to your touch and giving a kiss to your palm. 

“About time you got here, pup.”


	10. Jacob Seed - War Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War Zone warps your sense of want and desire.

Red, red, red, all you see is red. The red haze of ‘The Conditioning’ vibrates and thrums in tune with the mahogany song singing through the air. The red of blood, dusts your knuckles as you slam your fist into the bridge of your challengers nose, breaking it upon contact and sends gushing spurts of fluid out his nasal cavity as you retreat your hand back in position, bouncing on your toes. Red is in his face, furious and tight. Rigid wrinkles of anger and wrath breathes across his red expression, his sights on red, his hair like fire, his gums like the vicious result of devouring of the hunt.

Jacob tackles you down with a flash of red, the hilt of his blade in hand going to faint your opened left side but watches your arm as you go to dodge. He tangles, he drops his own blade and puts you in a stalemate hold before using his weight and collapses atop you. You hiss, you squirm, you snap your teeth like a venomous 'rattler but he only grunts at your attempts. You expect the coy and almost mockingly prideful laugh as he shoved you in the dirt, a smart look on his lips before they peel back and he hacks a glob of spit just beside your left ear.

“Stop struggling. You’re dead.”

And you tell him, “I’m not.”

Because the song is still playing, The Platters on repeat. The sirens are still blaring and it is still so red, red , red.

He lets you up and pats you on the rear. The surrounding Hunters let out a chorus of cheers, impressed sounds at the display that earns you looks of respect and your place at the table, your spot in the pack. Jacobs hand secure a tight hold in the back of your neck, vice and reminiscent of a collar as he begins his schpeel, asking his questions, teaching how he knows; what did you did wrong? What could have been done differently? Make the example. Made the example.

He guides you to your shared room, you see Pratt out the corner of you eyes pacing down the road. His shoes now match Jacob’s footprints in size, fitting. A better warden than a half-shit deputy. He sees you, his supposed savior that left him to run with the dogs. He doesn’t hate you, that you can tell, he’s found his place and gives a nod of his head, a respectful smile and then a coy prat grin when Jacob gives a yank of your head. Reminding your glazed eyes to look back forward, helping you steer your warpath brain back on the right gravel road.

You blink, red carpet rolled down the stairs. You blink, red mist of those who’ve bled still scattered in the air. You blink, red on the brass doorknob as Jacob’s bloody fingers grasp and turn. You blink, red on your shirt as he pulls your muddy top from over your head. You blink, red on your knees from the scratch of the fight. He tosses your clothes to the side and sends you to the bathroom, fishing your shared bed locker as you are told to clean up first. 

In nothing but your smalls, you stare at the red on the sink as your hands come up to rest against the pure white porcelain. There is a flash of red in the mirror as you catch Jacob’s reflection removing his muddy shirt. You turn, red streaks of claw marks and red blotches of well placed hits. You blink, red in his grin as the room catches in phantom red flames. You twitch, red blood boiling as he waves his claws at the look in your eyes.

Jacob sees the lost a familiar black in the void of your expanded and dilated pupils. It’s a tar soaked vision of PTSD and personal familiarity, clashing with the swimming haunts of his own conditioning. One of your arms drops from the sink, your wet hand dripping pink on the linoleum floor as your other hand remains clenched. Your head turned his way, your body towards the wall, he can feel the static lace the air and can taste the storm in his mouth. He spreads his legs to take weight and taunts your bad attitude into action.

“Come and get it, girl.”

And you spring. A wild animal hungry for the excuse to maim and kill. Your outstretched fingers go for skin as your body is caught in his waiting hold. Thick and well used muscle is able to effortlessly keep you in air as you sink your nails into the meat of his shoulders, dragging down and out and over and over as his full tooth grin covers up the pain he doesn’t show.

With a heavy turn of his boots your back is against the wall and his teeth is in your throat, leaving vicious impressions that will take days to go away. Red, blossoming red that soaks down into your bra. You cry in despair when he removes his teeth, lapping the mess like the thirsty old dog he is before sucking. He leans back on his haunches, bending his knees for you to rest on like a chair before one hand rides up your bra and tears it off by the clip in the back.

He catches your hand before you can slap his face, smirking at you before you bite open his lips and seek out his tongue. Your teeth click and grind, much like his hips as fingers pull at your underwear. You don’t feel like helping him, he breaks the kiss with a growl and paws one of you ass cheeks, hefting you up against and turning you to sit your backside on his desk. You don’t care for his papers, don’t care for his maps or his tactics and files. You scoot and tear at what you can and try to kick his head as he goes for your undergarments. He grabs hold of one of your thighs, slipping off the lace before you grab him by his ears and shove him down into the folds of you aching pussy.

Your angry moans sounds loud, once through the room as his broad tongue strokes up the mounds of your cunt and plunges in. Not enough, till too much. Your vision swarming with clouded mists of crimson, his hair the shade of fall embers. He knows what you want, retreating from your folds and ripping away your hands before you can pull him back in.

“Feisty.” He kicks off his boots and pops the bottom of his muddy jeans as you count the freckles leading down to his dick. They blink like stars in your eyes, twinkle like glowing lights in the night. His hair is in your hair, ripping you from the cloud with a fierce pull that beings tears into your eyes. “Stay with me now. Come back to me.” And you hiss, throwing your arms up and around his neck and a sudden calm falls over you, a sudden voice that tells you to be nice. Just once.

You carefully cup his face like a high school sweetheart you haven’t seen in five years. You kiss his lips with a kind of passion only heard about in romance novels.. He hums into the kiss, returning the kindness with his own before his hands make for your hips, hefting you back up and once more into his arms.

With some careful alignment, you sink down on his cock with the ease of being made for it.

And now is Jacob’s turn to snarl as he begins to bounce you on the thick of his dick, you hair bobbing with each plunge as gravity takes care of each pass before he fingers bring you back up to head and let you drop again to hilt.

Over and over and over again. The veins of his neck flex red and his bared his teeth at you, his fierce blue eyes practically alight in a form of pent up and raging frustration. It’s beautiful. His chest collapsing in and out as he growls like a wild animal, you throw your head back as his nails dig in to the skin of your ass. More heat, more passion, more pleasure. You wall as he strikes dead center to that wonderful spot inside of you once and then purposely swivels his stance, goddammit it.

Your own fateful cry is cut into a frustrated groan as he kisses the underside of your chin with an opposite gentleness, licking up your throat and settling into the tear he’s made in the left side. His dental record on display. It’s not too long before their’s an ignored knock at the door, a heaving laugh as Jacob backpedals for more room, your thrashing becoming a problem as you climax is quickly approaching.

Another knock goes ignored and you’re caught in the door frame of the bathroom. Using the trim of the wall as leverage as you help him lift, swiveling your hips as best you can as he fingers leave crescents in your backside.

“Fuck!” You bark.

“I’m tryin’ baby. Goddamn.” Accent thick in the heat of the moment. He’s as close as you are.

You toes start to curl, your other arms wrapped around his head as you bring his lips in for the last kiss. He meets you readily, nearly dropping you to cup you by the back of the head and deepen the exchange. His own legs begin to shake as you nearly take off a piece of the door frame as he falls back, landing on the edge of the tub and seating his dick deep inside as you collapse on his lap.

A wail of orgasm breaks through you as you rock in place, you legs convulsing to wrap around him as he sits you down one last time against him, hips lunging up into your core as his own climax surges through him and out into you.

Panting through the heat, the haze clears and still all you see is red.


	11. Jacob Seed NSFW ABC'S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is an ass and won't let me post there so I am posting it here. It is as the title says.

**A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)**

Jacob Seed is a big man and has a lot to take in when it comes to sex. He sees the discomfort on your face when he has to stretch you open, first on his fingers and maybe even on a small toy. So, the aftercare is spent between your legs, lathing your swollen and sopping cunt with gentle and well places laps of his tongue. On very rough sessions, he rolls a single ice cube in his mouth and gives your pussy a good tongue bathing, stuffing his tongue in and swirling frosted thrusts against your walls. Not too much but just right to have you sighing and spreading your shaking legs a little farther apart for him. He may even move up, teasing your stomach and nipples, only to run the hot pads of his hands over and warming you up again.

Jacob himself is a man of touch during the come down. He is possessive, even more so if the two of you are close. As his lover, he enjoys having you pressed against him. He likes to cradle, he likes to hold you. He spends his glow with your head on his chest, one leg tangled with his and his cheek on your head. He is a furnace and after some nice ice play you will be all over him, trying to get warmed up again. He breathes in the scent of your hair and the musk of your sex in the room. He is known for placing gentle kisses to your crown, a coronation of his one and only.

**B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)**

Jacob’s favorite part to have teased on his body is his hands. It’s not so much a sexual fixation as it is a calming one. It puts him to sleep for you to run the barest of your nail against his love line and up his fingers, down the other side over his knuckles and ring around his wrists. Gently scratch down his palm and weave imaginary shapes against his skin. Dot his freckles, kiss his scarred knuckles, push back his cuticles. Put some lotion on them, take care of his nails. Give him your own personal manicure, he doesn’t care. Just play with whatever hand happens to be free at the time and he will turn into a purring cat.

His favorite body part of yours is your hips and thighs. He’s a classical man. He likes his girl to have some wide hips. Sure, it could be the survivalist in him. Wide uterus, meaning easy birth and that may be part of the reason but he can’t deny the light swelling in his chest that he gets when stroking his thumb over the divot of your hip bone. Laying beside you in bed with an arm around your waist and thumb brushing back and forth over your thigh. Stretch marks, no stretch marks, he doesn’t care. He likes some junk in the trunk as well. Not too much but enough to make his neck sore after he forces you down on his face to eat you out like ice cream. This is a man who will be turned on by the thought of you crushing his head like a sparrow’s egg between your thighs.

**C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)**

When you cum: He loves it on his face. He loves lathing you between your legs and fingering you off until you can do nothing but hold on as your driven to gush like a faucet. Jacob loves the taste of you. Loves having his mouth on you. He loves the juices coating his face and matting his beard. He loves your sweaty thighs around his head. He loves to bury his tongue as far into you as he can while he licks you out like ice cream from a cone and when you finally squirt and he plays clean up with his mouth, he’ll give your clit a playful and pretty little kiss and suck.

When he cums it’s as he fucks and thrusts into you, his release quickly approaching and he’ll pull out with a frustrated groan slipping off the condom and moving to crouch over you. He’ll cup and squeeze your cheeks together until you are forced to open your mouth and swallow his cock, reveling in the taste that is both you and him. As things are as they are now, neither of you can afford a child. Maybe someday, safe in the confines of the bunker when the future is safely assured but for now, this will have to do. Jacob loves to cum in a hot and wet hole without the obstruction of some thin latex and if he can’t cum inside your cunt than thrusting his cock his cock to spend down your throat is the next best thing. He’ll cum with a hand around your neck to feel the steady bulge of his own dick going down as he slides in and out. Encouraging you all the while as you manage to take just a little bit more length in with each pump. When he cums, it’s with the tickle of his pubes brushing against your nose as he feeds his cum directly into your stomach.

But once the day does come that he allows himself to release inside of your cunt, the man will not be able to stop. Forget the condoms, forget swallowing, this man will be hooked and wishing he was just a little younger to be able to go another round so soon. So, he makes it count. He won’t stop moving until it is all out, groaning and growling all the while as his hips clap against yours with loud spanking slaps as he thrusts deeply with each spasming pulsation, finally stilling as the froth forms a beautiful halo around his cock and blesses you with a picture worthy creampie.

He’s not like his brothers, he doesn’t care if it goes to waste. He can knock you up any time he wants after you’re in the Bunker but that first time after he finishes inside of you, he will have you on his face, fetching it out of you with both his tongue and his fingers. And you will be riding out your second orgasm when he drags you off, skin shiny with the mix of your love.

**D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)**

It’s the Fourth of July, a time of celebration and joy as fireworks go off in the distance over Fall’s End. You can just make them out past the mountains. Below in mess hall of the Center, the soldiers are feasting and making merry. Jacob is a strong believer of ‘what Joe doesn’t know won’t hurt him’ and is lenient when it comes to the ‘no alcohol’ tenant of the Eden’s Gate, just on special occasions though, he doesn’t want an army of lush drunks. Jacob himself has a bottle of Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey, a glass between the two of you to add to the afterglow of a nice fuck. After a few rounds is when a blush will start to cover his cheeks and his lips start to get a little loose. Sex helps him relax. Whiskey helps him relax. Whiskey after sex knocks him on his ass and gives him a mental message, tells him it’s okay to drop his guard and just enjoy the buzz. That’s when you two share the most with each other, that’s when he tells you over and over that he loves you and he’s sorry he doesn’t say it or show it enough. Claiming he can’t afford not to be careful. That’s when you laugh and tell each other jokes. Tell each other secrets as your wrapped up in each other under the sheets.

He floors you with admitting that he’s imagined you being fucked by a Judge.

Two of the Judges had mount one day and while he wasn’t actively watching, the second he caught a glimpse it just popped into his head. Seeing you on your hands and knees with his cock in your mouth as you’re being fucked by one of his best dogs. A knot stretching you to the point that you’re gushing around it, rocking back against the animal in desperate attempt to ride the swelling for another orgasm. He’s stuffing his dick so far down your throat you can’t do anything but swallow. You watch him reach down to give himself a squeeze as he tells you of the graphic fantasy.

Of course. He would never ask that of you. Okay, he would maybe ask that of you but you only need to say no once and it will never be mentioned again. Or, you could hum along with his story and touch yourself with the imagined throb of a hot bulbous gland stretching you out, brutally fucking into you as the dogs hips animalistically keep pace.

It’s up to you whether or not you make this fantasy a reality but know that if you do, Jacob would never breed you with an actual wolf. He already has a hard time getting the Judges to stay docile, even under the Bliss they’re still wild animals and he wouldn’t risk an accident with you. He does know that John’s talked of capturing some prize winning dog champion out in Holland Valley. That thought is enough to have him rolling over you for another round.

**E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)**

Jacob is breaching fifty, has been on three tours and we all know what he looks like. Yes, he is experienced. He has had his fair share of ladies and men in bars looking for a quick fuck and knows they can get it from him when the feeling is mutual. Has he ever stayed around with anyone for as long as he has you? No. You’re it. You’re the one. Coining the phrase, ‘only you’ can thrill him like you do. He’s experienced enough to know what he’s doing but he’s not exactly willing to pick up the karma sutra. If there is something different you want him to do in the bedroom you will have to lead him through it. That said, Jacob is more than willing and ready to learn something new if it means your thighs are quivering by the end of the night.

**F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)**

The fandom and I have correctly labeled him as a man who favors Doggy Style. Constant passion, desire and pleasure, and of course Jacob is charge, but in this position even the you can drive by slamming back and circling your hips. You’ll have to bite the pillow as this position is his “favorite” because of the comfort and he’s able to penetrate deep, deep, and feel you. In addition, Jacob has the opportunity to watch himself slipping in and out of you with each thrust, watching your juices slick his dick and the pretty little flutter your walls make around him as he manages to hit that sweet spot that has you screaming. Jacob loves watching himself fuck you. The only reason the two of you don’t own a full scale mirror in the bedroom yet is because Jacob hasn’t gotten around to getting one yet.

Another position he favors is Downward Dog, a similar position to Doggy Style but with a nice and brutal twist for when Jacob is feeling pent up and frustrated. It’s an ideal position for role-playing games, and when you open the bedroom door to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands fisted at his chin, you know you’re about to get it. The command of ‘Assume the position, soldier’ is the only warning you’re going to be sore for the rest of the day. You’ll be knelt down and lying face down bracing yourself with one arm as Jacob holds, possibly twists if he’s really into it, the other behind your back. He’s like holding the back of your neck like this, forcing your face into the pillows as he leans over your back and marks you bite after bite with his teeth.

**G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)**

Serious. As in, a seriously fucking dirty mouth. I wouldn’t call him goofy, he is very stern when biting words into your ears over how hard he’s going to fuck you into the mattress. His hands are very hard when it comes to spreading your thighs and sinking ball deeps into your mound, willing to fuck you stupid and to completion. It’s only after that fuck is out of his brain and body that he rolls over and pulls you into spoon. There will be no blowing raspberries into your skin but he will kiss you enough times for his beard hair to tickle.

**H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)**

Jacob has to keep himself well groomed due to personal reasons. His face is patched with some rough burns from a barn fire he set. Or they could have been from severe child labor in the sunlight, Georgia heat baking the sidewalk hot enough to melt skin if someone was careless enough to trip. Or perhaps it was an abusive father, who grasped him by the back of the head and pressed his face to the heated hood of the broken down family truck. The soldiers are not ballsy enough to wonder out loud and you would never betray Jacob’s trust and tell them the true story. What matters is that growing his beard out, irritates those burns so he keeps it maintained in a way that is comfortable for his skin.

Now, comes the topic of the chemical burns and how he was lucky enough that his crotch did not suffer much during that ‘accident’ but there are some angry discolored blotches near enough to his groin to be a considered a miraculous close call. He is hairy but not enough to mat from sweat, bright ginger curls that is so fun to get your hands on and cup his peach fuzz balls. His chest is covered in them too, along with scars from war wounds, bullet sunflowers and cuts from both knives and childhood switches. He is a geographical map of trauma and his hair remains thin if not shaved off entirely in those areas.

**I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)**

Jacob is a primal man when it comes to the shear fucking but before that he will wine and dine you. He will make sure you are full, content, happy. He will put you in the mood. He won't lay flowers petals down the hall to the bedroom, that's John's book and bible but Jacob will lay sweet kisses across your wrists. He will strokes your arms and touch the small of your back in such gentle ways with his rough spun hands that will leave you will butterflies in your stomach and shivers going down your spine.

Jacob gets this look in his eyes that can turn you into a blushing and giggling mess. There are two versions of it, the hot and heavy where they simply smolder like a warm lit fireplace and then there is the soft glow that remind you of a campfire during the summer, fireflies dancing and moonlight shining. The second one is where you know you are in for a soft and gentle kind of love making that will leave you both laid up in the morning as the aftertaste of a good bout will have you both coiled and cuddled with each other, wrapped in blankets and not wanting to leave for anything.

During the moment itself, Jacob's thick skin is a contrast against your soft flesh, sending goosebumps across you and the feeling of power buzzing to your toes. When he's like this, is when you have chance to hop on board and steer for the night. Sessions where you come first are often but when Jacob is in a romantic mood, he wants you in charge. He knows you won't let him down. He just keeps touching you, keeping running his fingers down your back and across your bare stomach, to a point it could even tickle. A bit of good humor in him, he may even actually just tickle you if it thrown you off rhythm enough for him to excuse you and take over.

**J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)**

Jacob is a busy man during the day, with a kind of sleep deprived mania that can go on for a long, long time. When he really does need to relax it's only after a hard day and with you all to himself. When he can't have you, well...He settles.

He'd rather he not because that's what he has you for, since falling for you he gets better sleep and better pleasure. But he is a man, he's only human.  Jacob starts slow, works himself with a single hand and goes hard, apply pressure at the base and working up to the head. He's the kind of guy to grip his cock hard enough it could almost be on the line between pain and pleasure. He doesn't fuck his fist, he takes his time up until the point where he cums and when he does-god does it make a mess.

**K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)**

While the fanbase has turned Jacob into the big and strong daddy of the Seeds, they also have turned him into the dominate and powerful force in the bedroom. I like that, I like that a lot. Want to know what I also like? I like how Jacob is good at giving praise and how he sounds so damn cock sure of himself over the radio.

Jacob loves telling you how good you are. How right you are. How strong you are. How you’re the only one he would fuck like this. How the two of you could burn the world together.

He’s good a giving but he himself has also got one hell of a praise kink. Tell him that he’s good. Tell him he’s strong. Tell him that he’s the only one to make you cum like this. He’s the only one to ever get you seeing stars when he hits that special place. Tell him that he’s the best damn soldier, the smartest damn marksmen. That the nation should eat shit for throwing away such a good soldier like him. That’s he’s gonna get you through tomorrow and more.

Ask him if he’s going to take care of you and he’ll be shouting yes after yes, chanting like he’s joined John’s choir. He may also have a bit of an obedience kink.  A man who is constantly being the enforcer outside of the bedroom, if you finish with the demand that he fuck you till your sore, you’ll be met with a moan of ‘yes ma’am/sir.’ and bruises on your thighs for the rest of the evening.

**L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)**

Jacob values the bedroom but there is something that gets him going to have you under the stars. Not in the bed of his truck, no. You are a lady and he will treat you to the second best. There’s a nice layout of dense leaves that the tent is build on for padding and once the blankets and pillows are down, you are down in his face and trying to keep your volume to a low for fear of passing hikers or animals, not that Jacob would build camp anywhere their is risk of company but still the idea never leaves you mind of getting caught while your outside.

**M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)**

Jacob likes a strong partner. Obviously, he needs someone who can fit his credo. He needs someone who doesn’t need to be taken care of, who can work independently away from him and doesn’t have their entire life revolve around him. Jacob likes to see you strong. He likes to see you smart. He likes to see you doing the more logical thing and claiming it to be ‘commons sense’ because Jacob is a thinker, Jacob values logic. Hard said coming from someone who’s brother is leading a religious doomsday cult but he’s stated himself that looking around, it’s kind of obvious. He like someone who can follow orders but isn’t afraid to point out a bad call. He’s not going to purposely test you with an obviously death wish order but if you feel a plan that he makes could be better adjusted or ‘couldn’t we just, and then do that so save-such and such’ He’ll know you’re paying attention. Lead beside him, not behind him.

Also, small but meaningful things to show you care. Staying within his own set boundaries. He’s not into PDA but if he bumps his hand against yours while you shadow him through the courtyard, return it. If he brushes against your shoulder, give him a nod. This is his little way of showing he cares outside of the bedroom, take it when you’re given and do the same back to him. Just make sure it’s subtle enough with the surroundings in mind. Cover his blind spot.

What actually gets him going is a girl who is willing to take what she wants. He can’t have someone hesitant in the bedroom. You need to know what you want and you need to make it clear. Jacob can be an intimidating person, he doesn’t need someone who flinches any time he makes a move he needs someone to stand strong in front of him and snark off if he gives you a playful order. “Does Daddy need to put you over his knee?” Tease back, play back. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t want Daddy’s knees to go bad early.” Get him to the point that he calls you a little shit and spanks your ass. Find him sitting in the living room with a cold beer, tell him your horny and climb on his lap. Take those kisses. You are his to fuck when he is horny and he is yours to take when you are horny. So, take that cock. Don’t be afraid to take what’s yours.

Give him some surprises too. Simple little changes that once he notices them make him pause and take in the sight. Be it a small cock of the hip when you know he is looking. Maybe a red thong that he can come home to and see you wearing, with nothing else. Give him a grin when you catch him staring at you for long. Rest back against him when he comes up from behind to wrap you in a hug. Wake him up from his nightmares and have a glass of water already waiting for him. The most key thing is honesty. No judgement. Care. Just care for the man. He’s not going to leave his desk when it’s covered in paperwork, so go to him and stay close, offer to help or cuckold him. He’s not going to stop training his troops to take care of you. So, follow him, stay close and learn the names of those that are falling behind. He is not going to stop brainwashing and culling the herd, understand that and never never ask him to stop.

Take what he gives you and give back. This is an equal partnership.

**N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)**

Jacob is a serious man. He’s rough around the edges. He’s served multiple tours. He’s seen people die. He’s killed people. He’s manipulated, tortured, maimed innocents. He’s ate a man in order to survive. You don’t take someone like that and treat them with pity. He give him the respect he deserves in and out of the bedroom.

Jacob also believes that what happens between the two of you is no one else’s business. So, displays of affection are limited to the bedroom or at your safe place. Exhibition is not on the table. Call him old fashioned.

Also get the feeling that Jacob would not like to be told ‘I love you’ out loud. It throws him off guard. If you are with him, don’t say it. Show him.

**O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)**

Jacob may have been growing out the beard to hide the scars on his face but if you think for one moment he doesn’t use it to tickle the in-between of your thighs, you got another thing coming. This man does not care if you are self-conscious or not, skinny or large, chubby or slim, at one point you are going to sit on his face and you are going to cum on his tongue. He would feel offended if you didn’t at least once give him a shot on your sweet juices.

And if you are so inclined to return the favor he would be more than flattered to have your tongue on his cock, lathing him over before stuffing him down your throat. As much as you can take, as little, he’ll grind softly against your lips with a series of appreciative groans and husk grumbles that’ll leave you with a hand between your legs.

**P = Pace (Are they fasts and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)**

Depends on what mood he is in. Just know that in the end you will be left satisfied and sore. I see Jacob actually a slow and sensual man. He enjoys taking his time with you and personally seeing to it that you are an unraveled and soaking mess by the time he actually penetrates you. He can be quiet tender, speckling you with kisses on your shoulder, your cheeks, your lips. Think some slow morning sex but with the bite and energy that comes from the after morning jog. Jacob has big hands, he likes putting them on you. He likes caressing his thumbs over your hips and your throat. He likes to trail his lips over your collar bone and naval. He will tease your inner thigh with his lips and beard as he moves down your legs and nips your ankles. You will be covered in halo bruises. When it comes to the actual sex itself, Jacob is a steady rock. He is the anchor during the rock and wave of thrusts. He is a big man and makes sure that each pull and dive he makes into you and drawn out and really felt. A well paced cradle of his hips and his hands brushing down your chest to sooth his thumbs over your nipples and tits. He will paste himself to your back and lathing kisses behind your ears, humming praise and encouragement as he moves one arm to brace around your hips and help you thrust back against him, grinding you down against the throbbing in your guts that ends with you seeing stars and maybe with a few tears in your eyes. Contrary to what the fandom often puts out, I see Jacob as a kind of man who by default wants to make love to his woman. And damn if he doesn’t do it well. Jacob has big rough hands that he uses to turn and play with you like puddy.

His second setting is rough. It’s when he needs active release. When he needs something to help him reach the breaking point that his anger alone just can’t do by itself. Sometimes the day gets to be too much on him, his mind a buzz with war sirens and trauma. He fucks it out and as his lover, you are the target. Those days, the toys comes out. He gives demanding barks of “on your knees” and the tap tap of the riding crop against your chin is playful yet stern reminders that you are to refer to him as “sir” during this time. He is more than furious, driving between your legs, as he has you pressed up against the nearest surface to fuck into you like it’s going out of style. It is a fast and almost quickie like kind of fucking that’ll turn your legs to jelly in a matter of seconds. He will spank you, he will praise you. He will work you on his cock like his own personal flesh light and you will love every minute of it because he’s pressing a bullet vibrator to your clit and grinding down on it without mercy. He will force his fingers in your mouth to suck and if you’re still not getting it hard enough, bite them; it’s an instant spank to the rear. If you accidentally mistake “sir” with “daddy,” well...He doesn’t slow down but you can feel him grinning into the crook of your shoulder, whispering that you’re “daddy’s dirty girl” and earn his hand around your throat as he drops the vibrator to assault your clit with pistoling and circling fingers. That’s when you scream. That’s when you cry. That’s when he whistles in triumph and appreciation as you squirt like a faucet all over the place as his pace finally slows down to something far more gentle. You’ll earn the sweetest kiss to the top of your head as his lips brush over your ear and he mutters in pride-

“That’s my girl.”

**Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)**

There has been a time where the day drags on, where Jacob is twitchy and for some reason can’t settle even to give orders to his troop. One of these days is where he breaks a bit of his own rule and invites you to the center with the excuse of eating lunch together.

He eats you out instead, has you perched on the corner of his desk and he knees below you and goes to down in tonguing you to completion. Once that ache in his jaw is satisfied is when he drops his pants and fucks you into seeing stars. He has a bed over at the center anyways, you can just take a nap. No one is going to ask why you’re there.

**R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)**

If you haven’t read T=Toys that you should know that Jacob is a kinky sonofabitch. So, when it comes to experimenting, Jacob is more than open to the idea of adding some more fun to the bedroom. Outside of your shared room/home, Jacob is a very stern and man with a ‘not-to-be-fucked-with’ personality, especially in front of any of his soldiers. However, when it is just the two of you he drops the tough guy exterior and affords himself to crack a genuine smile at you without worry of being seen as weak or soft. He trusts you, you wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near his blind side if he didn’t. So, one day if you were to bring up the idea of pegging he wouldn’t outright say no, maybe start to raise a brow and finger to argue but then get this dazed and considering look across his face. Don’t force the issue but give him some time to do his own research, a day or two may stretch to a week but eventually you may wander across the bedroom one day to see a harness and beginner size dildo inconspicuously laying on the bed.

While Jacob is a ball of stress and guarded in public. If you were to make a very loud and simply display of locking his office door however. Get on your knees in front of him, put your hands on his hips to keep him from moving and get to work on his dick. If he’s busy on the phone or radio, he may try to push you away a little at first, looking between you, the phone, and the door but eventually he will give you a sharp smirk and set his hand on your head. PDA is not really his thing on the outside but when and if he is feeling confident enough that no one is watching he may bump his shoulder against yours as a kind of hug. His hand may twitch close to your fingers and brush fleetingly over your knuckles. This is his way of showing public affection and if you return the small gestures yourself, well...You’ll catch him biting his lips to try and not smile. He’s got a reputation to keep, man can’t be smiling like a love sick goof in front of his soldiers, no sir.

**S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)**

He’s a soldier, Jacob can go for a long, long time. An hour and a half at least. He is very good at pacing himself, so a single round for him is going to be at least two or three for you. It will be a session that is filled with pants, sweat, sticky mixes of your juices as you cunt squelches with each thrust while he rocks his hips in a pace that drives you wild. He’s default during sessions like this is a calm pace that focuses more on depth that speed. Don’t dare him, he go go harder and faster but it comes in short bursts before he calls it back down to a cooler work out. He will chuckle at your quivering as you wrap your legs around him to drive him faster, to keep him going.

“I got another thirty minutes in me at least, babe.”

It’s up to you whether or not you make that hour last. If you say jump, Jacob will jump.

**T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)**

Oh yes, Jacob owns toys. Under his bed is a small locker with a dial combination lock, spelling ‘CYOTE’. Inside that chest is the good stuff; a crop, a collar, a spreader bar, a ball gag, a small dildo, a cock ring, a bullet vibrator, and special toy he keeps in an even smaller black box.

Jacob uses them on you most often. For your comfort before sex he will help work you up to take his cock with the dildo. It’s about an average sized rubber toy that helps stretch you out enough for when he’s deemed you ready for a good dicking.

The crop, collar, and spreader bar is for when he’s noticed you’ve been bad. Perhaps falling behind on your scheduled regimen. Not leaping enough hurdles. Not running fast enough. Not culling the herd well enough. During those days he slides you over his lap and delivers some sharp spanks to your rear, not stopping until your begging him to. You’re legs spread open with the bar and you have to beg hard and loud if you want to be heard around that gag he’s put in your mouth. It’s a punishment and leaves you ass covered in red and purple welts that have you unable to sit down. A soldier is always on their toes, after all.

After your spanking, he forces you to work the entire next day with a lovely little bullet up your cunt, taped to your leg and pressing up against that wonderful spot. Jacob will force you to follow him the entire day, remote control in his pocket and dialed up at odd intervals whenever he feels like it. If he’s feeling merciful, you may have a steady trip throughout the evening with a pleasant buzz that you can rub your legs against for ease. When he’s feeling malicious, devious, giving you a devilish grin, you will have to deal with the embarrassing wet spot forming between your thigh, underwear and pants getting soaked in your own juices and your own legs quivering to keep you upright as you work through the pleasure.

The cock ring, is for him. Jacob has stamina but nothing pleases him more than being able to fuck you stupid and drooling and the cock ring helps him achieve that in spades. Jacob has you wear the collar, with a copy of his tags clicking through the ring. He’ll pull at it, use it as a grapple to position you in just the right way. He’ll go until his dick’s purple if that’s what it takes to bring you to your fifth, maybe sixth orgasm and unable to even beg for him to stop.

Lastly is what’s in the little black box. It’s for days when he doesn’t want to be in control, when he wants to hand the reins over and have his own down day. Inside this wonderful box is a selection of sounding rods, that he trusts you and only you to use right. You’ll have him on his back and moaning as he grapples with the bed frame to keep from fighting the painful pleasure. If you ever feel like getting him back for punishing you, force on the cock ring and wrap the collar around his neck. He won’t say no. He’ll be too busy asking for more.

**U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)**

See S = Stamina. Jacob can still go for a long time and if he’s feeling particularly frisky he can make that hour and a half a living hell for you.

**V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)**

Jacob makes grunts and groans more than actually moans. Long sighs of breath that click at the end. He rolls his r’s when he’s going hard and fast. If and when he does moan, it sounds more like the wind is being knocked out of him with a fist to the gut than actually moaning.

**W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)**

Jacob is running a militia, that comes with some heavy paperwork. Soldier schedules, supply charts and demands, safety concerns, heads to count, routines to plan. Then there is the issue with weeding the weak, culling the herd. Bliss shipments to improve conditioning. Security control to keep those with potential stable. Judge research. Hunting routes.

It is all a lot of work and a lot of paper. His desk is usually swamped and when he is not stepping through the courtyard of the Veterans Center he is in his room, at his desk and pencil to page. He believes in the term of ‘I’ll sleep when it is done,’ and some days pushing papers can leave him at desk for hours.

Wanna know what Jacob can appreciate during this time? A nice shoulder massage to help his bunched up form as he slouches over a desk that’s too small for him. What to know what he would love even more? If you get underneath that desk, unbutton his fatigues and just hold his cock in your mouth.

Oh, he would really like that. You don’t even have to do anything, just get nice and comfortable between his legs and warm his dick. No sucking, no swallowing, just hold it in your cheeks and set your chin on his knee. Just relax and breath deep through your nose. Eventually, his fingers will find the back of your head and he’ll start to rock, cradling like a babe. It’ll be on and off and you may even find yourself falling asleep at one point because it’ll be so peaceful.

You’ll wake up with a sore in your throat and find him stuffing himself as deep as he can go, cumming down into your stomach. He’s been so gently getting himself off during your nap, you don’t notice until he’s finishing up. Hours have passed, his work is all done. He’ll drag you up with a sated and peaceful sigh and kiss you full on the mouth, holding you in a powerful and appreciative hug.

“Thanks for that, babe.”

**X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)**

I stated above that Jacob is big. By big I mean, thick. Lube with his is a must, even if you’re horny and wet already. Let’s say about a nice handful in circumference.  Jacob has a decent length of 7in. Circumcised and leans a little to the right. He is groomed out of necessity, hair growth causing irritation as the chemical and regular burns on his body spot down his chest, abs, and stomach. He was lucky enough that his crotch did not suffer much during the accident but there are some patches near enough to his groin to be a close call. So, where he does grow hair, he keeps neatly trimmed and his balls with a layer of peach fuzz. He is in his fifties so they do hang a little but that just means they’re easier for you play with. ;)  

For as big as he is, Jacob has big loads to match. Orgasms usually leave him shaking and if you focus on it, you would even be able to feel the underside vein of his cock, throbbing with each pulsing jet of cum as his dick jerks inside of you.

**Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)**

Jacob is pushing 50 so his sex drive is rather steady and predictable. So, chances are, you are the one who has to mix it up a bite make it clear you’re in the mood. A naughty exchange can be made by either just outright telling him you’re horny or by surprising him in the kitchen in nothing but some red lace panties. Of course, at his age is takes more than just a skimpy thong to get him up but you will get him to let out a low whistle and start bumping and grinding against you. Once you make it clear that you’re wanting a sexy time with him, it’s just a matter of working him up. You need to be flexible, need to get creative. Keep it up and keep him on his toes. It’s partly way he has so many toys and is so willing to change things up in the bedroom.

Despite his age, he is working a very healthy schedule so he’s got it in him to sometimes find his own mood. Sometimes the day gets to be too much on him, his mind a buzz with war sirens and trauma. He fucks it out. Before he met you it was working himself to the point of exhaustion, now it’s fucking himself to the point of exhaustion. He can be rough, he can be steady. He can drag it out for hours if he feels the mood and more often than not, that’s the mood he goes with because once he pops it may take a while for him to get back up.

That’s okay though. If you’re still frisky he is more than happy to let you hitch a ride on his face. Loves it actually; giddy as a ten year old at Christmas. That said, if you’re wanting a quickie, order him to get on the bed and eat you out. That will always do the trick at getting him full mast and ready for sailing.

**Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)**

Jacob has a big cock, with girth there comes a lot of blood that needs to fuel it. After that release, Jacob is down for the count, especially if you gone the whole hour fucking. He settles for a nap, trusting you to be taken care of in his arms or strong enough to struggle out of them if you need to get cleaned up. Jacob himself doesn’t care if he’s covered in cum, he takes a shower in the morning, every morning at the same time.

But still, after having you for the night, It is the most peaceful sleep he ever gets.


	12. John Seed NSFW ABC'S

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is a butt and won't let me post so I am posting it here. On par with Jacob Seed here is John Seed's NSFW ABC's.

**A = Aftercare** (What they’re like after sex)

John is a lazy man on a mission after sex. While he enjoys the fatigue and bodily relief that comes from after sex, he hates being or even feeling the slight bit dirty. Like running a good marathon, you feel great but at the same time you  _ feel _ eww. 

John loved cleanliness. He doesn’t like getting sweaty or being sweaty for too long. That said, there is a reason he has such a nice house and why there is an air conditioner in almost every room. Everything is neat, in order, in place, almost borderline OCD and John may even have said to you, “Cleanliness is next to godliness.” 

So, after a nice round in the sheets, he practically drags both of you to the shower. It’s that begrudging step that must be taken before the two of you can finally savor the post coitus bliss. Under the spray of the shower head and he gives you a kind of soft treatment that makes you want to close your eyes and just sag against him. It’s more like an after sex soak then it really is a shower.

Aftercare is his arms wrapped around you under the spray of some cool and refreshing water as he lays angel kisses on your shoulders and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. Aftercare is him patiently massaging soap over your body and likewise, you rub suds over his his chest. Aftercare is having to rock gently into his fingers as he makes sure to get all those hard to reach places. Aftercare is him tilting your head back to gently rinse you down. Aftercare is him helping dry you off before rubbing oil into your skin and slipping kiss after kiss to follow. 

Then, once the two of you are clean and refreshed you both practically flop into bed together, towel dry and too tired to bother with anything else. Your head against his chest as his thumb strokes your arm. You both smell clean, you both feel clean, you both drift off for a nap encompassed in each other’s fresh scent.

 

**B = Body part** (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

John is an artist. He loves a blank canvas, a place for him to flex out his imagination and picture characterchures, splashings of ink, crawling on expanses of unmarred skin. What part would look stunning with his designs, traced on and flourishing in new make-up? A previous work can look just as beautiful with a finishing touch from his pen. A bruise would look just beautiful with a slit and red splash to the side. Your eyes clash,  _ shining _ with the purples and greens of swollen skin or jaw. Your face is awe inspiring with lips puckered from his roughly rocking hips, as he delves deeper and deeper down your throat until his cum is swimming in your gullet.

John loves any part of you that he can leave a mark on, kissing your bitemarks and bruises with an angel like gentleness in contrast to the devil’s rough treatment he gave you prior to your beating. The collar of his fine handprint, wrapped around your throat is one of many testaments he sings.

‘Mine.’

**C = Cum** (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Wear it. Wear it like fashion. When John is not cuming inside of you he is cuming on you. John takes pleasure in seeing the stripes of white coat up your stomach after having pulled out, like decoration. He love smiling at your wear as the ribbons of semen touch your lips and trail down your cheeks like tears. John is a filthy man that would have you wear his cum like jewelry and take photos on his phone. Even more, he loves to come in your mouth, just to have that perfect snapshot of helping you spread your lips with his thumb, pressing against your tongue and mixing the white froth on your taste buds before the flash of his camera permanently captures the view. One of his favorites gifts to give you is a pearl necklace, decorating the bruises he's left across your throat.

**D = Dirty Secret** (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

John not only enjoys seeing you wear his marks but he likes seeing you in lingerie and one of his shirts as well. Maybe just one of his finer shirts and nothing else. Wear his coat like a housecoat and sneak up on him. Catch him by surprise a he comes inside on the phone and slowly stops his conversation as he sees you sitting on the sofa with just one of his cardigans and no underwear on, you’ll hear his teeth click as he has to shut his mouth.

**E = Experience** (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

John has some marks in his bedpost. He has some good lays under his belt. He was a good looking man through college and he is still a fine ass looking man. So, it is easy for him to find a partner for the night.  Women fall into him and his devil’s smile, with a kind of grace that has them leaving their panties behind as they leave the next morning. He knows how to pick the men that won’t awkwardly hang around, those with like interests for the kinky and a pretty boy who knows how to hand and take dick.  People younger than him have hit on him, people older than him have hit on him. Female, male, non binary. John could have his pick, will a cardbook in his office he could flip through like they’re recipes; what does he want for dinner tonight?

As a good looking and successful lawyer, from a wonderful big city, John knows what he is doing and is very good at pretending when he doesn’t. He’s still young afterall, he doesn’t know everything but he is more than willing to learn. He owns a Karma Sutra book somewhere in his office, a few pages dog eared and some even scribbled with red pen, correcting and noting; most of all, a score of 1/10

**F = Favourite Position** (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

John Seed is a man with a serious case of mania. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to slow down it’s that he’s not really programmed to. His college days was a reving mix of study, party, sex, drugs, sleep, and repeat. Then as an adult it was, work, party, sex, drugs, sleep, and repeat. Not necessarily in that order. He is also a busy man with not enough hours in the day. He is always going, always on his feet, pacing and jittery. He works tirelessly to make up for that sin on his chest. Yet, at the same time…

The Cowgirl position is just enough for him to be lazy and work at the same time. Swooping him off his feet and putting a dent in any plans by forcing him to the couch and giving him a ride. If he’s feeling particularly slothful, he will simply lean back and let you handle it. You know what your doing and he can just cup your ass, dig his nails in and rock you just the way he likes it, going after to mouth at your tits if you arch up enough. At the same time John has some bounce to him, so his hips would be jumping with you as you clap back down onto his thighs.

If the mania in the day gets to be too much and he’s still not dialed down, then buckle up and ready yourself because he will be grabbing you under your knees and suddenly lifting you off just enough for him to get his feet up at the edge of the chair and start jackhammering into you. The Fast Fuck position is as its name implies; a fast and brutal pace that burns him out faster than he would care to admit but if it isn’t worth it. Then, he drops you back down for a nice and languid rocking that’ll have you both finishing with his nails down your back as you kiss him breathless.

**G = Goofy** (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

It really depends on what kind of mood his is in besides horny. John has two settings; hard and mean, or light and laughy. Some days he acts like a real lover and will mix playfulness with the roll of his hips, dancing his fingers across your sides and tickling you until the both of you need to break for laughter. When trying something new, there are positions that end with awkward shambling of limbs before he calls ‘fuck it’ and will grapple you around in a gleeful change in position. You can see the defeat on his face as an annoyed scrunch of his nose and the pout of his lip that is too cute not to giggle at. Careful though, if you laugh too hard or too long, he may just have to get serious and you won’t like him when he is serious.

A serious John is someone who just wants to get his rocks off. He would care less for your pleasure and more for the feeling of chasing the high of an orgasm. John does not like to be teased or teased at.

**H = Hair** (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Look at him. Look at this man and tell me he doesn't manscape. John is all about looking perfect. His hair is smoothed back, his beard is shaped. If he doesnt was down there then he is sporting a small bush of hair that is shaped to perfection. I have half a mind to believe that somewhere in his bathroom is a brand of shampoo made specifically for his private hair. The label in some fancy french font with curled cursive and smells like apple pine tar.

This man is groomed. Not too long but long enough to prove a bit of padding when he thrusts against you. Yes the carpets match the drapes. Fine and smoothed, I don't wanna say he uses gel in his ‘hair but it looks like it.

**I = Intimacy** (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

What mood is he in?

Because John can be a tender lover if he tries. All gentle touches and soft holds. He knows how to woo, he knows what song to sing and what dance to step. If he wants you to love him he will do what he needs to to get it. He will light the candles, he will draw the bath. He will make your night spectacular, if the reward is him being held close and treated with the love he so needs. He takes a leaf from Joseph’s book and treats you like his biblical wife, going as far to touch your ring finger and brush it with his thumb, humming softly of the what-if’s and what-will-be once the Collapse has passed.

John can put butterflies in your stomach as sure as he can put wasps in it too.

**J = Jack Off** (Masturbation headcanon)

John would prefer a pretty young lady sucking him off but when it gets to be just him he makes do. He makes do with a silk tie wrapped around his hand and said same steady palm around his dick. John can become very furious when it comes to his sexual drive, he is a vicious man both in and out of the bedroom with or sans a partner. Sure, he may start out slow and taking his time with his need but about midway he will be stroking hard and I mean hard. He’ll squeeze and twist, biting his own lip as he struggles to get just the right amount of pain, holding himself tight enough to cut off the orgasm and all the more rev himself further for the big finish.

He pinches, he tweaks his own nipples, he digs his own nails into his thighs. John loves the pain laced pleasure and when he does jack off, he goes for stamina. He will hold off as long as he can, he will make this last for himself. He will cum with growls and a single loud and choked groan, the jets of white catching high enough on his chest to accentuate the red scratch marks he’s made down his stomach. Even better that he can see his own mess through his reflection in the bedroom mirror he’s been watching himself from.

**K = Kink** (One or more of their kinks)

Oh boy. I might as well have cracked my knuckles before writing this because this man is not shy and has a lot.

Spanking. John loves leaving a mark and for him to hear the shrieks of both surprise and pain melding with pleasure as he grinds his hips down into you. Spanks your ass during a rough fuck of slamming his cock into your tight hole, drawing you walls clenching steadfast around him tighter than before. His eyes may as well roll when he hears the sharp clap of his hand coming down upon your ass.

Choking. Again, John loves to leave his marks. John cannot get enough of having his hand around your neck, the soft pads of his thumb brushing against the center of your throat before the pressure becomes so tight you can't breath. Reaching to grasp or fight against him only serves to turn him on more as he rocks into you, groaning and clenching his teeth as the wild look in his eyes will drive you to tears, not just the lack of oxygen. Don't worry, love. You've only passed out once and it was from coming, not deprivation.

Edging. Oh yes. Defiantly edging when he feels like being a selfish tease. Looking down at you with a smirk on his mouth, morphing into a soft and blessed smile as he teases your clit with expert fingers. It doesn't matter how many times you say ‘please,’ he’s too into listening to your moans for more. He loves to see your mascara running down your cheeks as you come cresting to your orgasm before ripping away his hands and forcing a palm around your throat, swallowing your denied screams as he tongue's your mouth.

By now you should realize that in order to be with John you would have to be a serious masochist.

**L = Location** (Favourite places to do the do)

The bedroom, he has those lavish pillows and bedspread for a reason. HIs bed is fucking memory foam and the headboard is steady. He takes it as a personal challenge to fuck you hard enough to get it bashing into the wall, the only part of his property he doesn’t mind destroying. It gets a laugh out of him, a gleeful shine in his eyes when he hears the plaster spitting against the floor. Sure, it’s something you’ll have to clean up later but in the moment as he enjoys it you can’t help but rock back just as fiercely into him, he goes for the headboard against the wall, you go for getting the bed to actual move its legs.

His second favorite position is his office.

**M = Motivation** (What turns them on, gets them going)

When John gets high energy sex is one of the things on his mind, besides kill and baptise. Used to be that drugs was on that list to but since coming to Hope County he has been clean and has to satisfy that carnal craving in other ways, sex is the other vice that since being with you and with his brother’s blessing he hounds down like he’ll die without it. Yes, he relishes when a sinner confesses. Yes, the face of pain on others gets his motor running. Yes, yes, that word, yes.   

**N = NO** (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

John is not a fan of switching power play. In this relationship, he is the one in control and you are not with him to try and be over him. He holds the leash and the collar. There is no trying to wrangle your way into dominating him. Sure, he’ll let you up on his lap once in a while to throw you the bone but that control will quickly go back to him at the turn of the hip. When your on top, don’t get it in your mind that your incontrol it’s just playing to him, he will however once in a blue moon tell you to ride him like the dirty girl you are with a smile on his lips but once he catches a second wind, you’ll be back on your back.

John also is not a big fan of squirting, he finds it too unhygienic.

**O = Oral** (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

John prefers to receive rather than give, simply because he is a taker. He knows how to get you off without oral so, why do it for you? There are times he will throw you on the bed and impulsively decide to put his mouth to use. You are not John’s first. He is very talented with that tongue. 

**P = Pace** (Are they fasts and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

John is a mix of both depending on his mood. When the manic is strong and he just needs to release and burn out he is going fast, that is a hard fuck while pressed against the wall or a couch.

**Q = Quickie** (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

When he is really horny and needs to work out some pent up manic frustration is a moment where he catches you in the living room, kissing you hard enough to bruise your lips and walking you up to fuck on the staircase because he will not make it to the bedroom without first eating you out of feeling your legs. Then it’s a hop into his arms before he’s pressing you against the railing for some dry humping and once you reach the bedroom, you are already liquid and gushing, already loose from his fingers fucking you open and ready for business.

**R = Risk** (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Y E S

**S = Stamina** (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

On a bad day, John has the energy and anger to last one extreme long and rough fucking. On a good day he can go two amazing rounds that will leave you both panting and blissed for the next hour. His bad days are short and literally nothing more than a way for him to blow some steam off and pop. He couldn’t get enough taking it out on some poor sinner in need of cleansing, he’s going to take it out on you in a more ‘sweeter’ way. His good days will last him longer than two hours, a good break between the two before he is rolling over and caging you in on the bed, grinding into your fucked out cunt and taunting about how he’ll fill you up until there is nothing left.

**T = Toy** (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

John has a crop, he has handcuffs and silk ropes. He has blindfolds. He has candles. He has a spreader bar. He has sounding rods. He has plugs. He has a dildo. He has nipple clamps. On days where he feels the need to be pampered and spoiled himself, there is a nice and pretty strap-on with a rubber cock perfect for reaching and tickling his prostate. He’s tested it. Oh yes, he has tested everything. This man is not shy to fill his life with sexual pleasure. These toys may not see as much action as they used to back when he was in college but since meeting you, they certainly haven’t been collecting dust.

**U = Unfair** (How much they like to tease)

If you’ve been naughty, you will be teased until you are begging for it. Hell, John will stuff a vibrator in your cunt, slap you on the rear and tell you to go about your day. It usually starts because he’s in a pissy mood and wants someone to beg him for mercy. That someone just happens to be you, crying and overstimulated to the point that his feather touch against your hot cheek is a relief all on it’s own.

**V = Volume** (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

John does moan, a lot. John doesn’t care who hears, he doesn’t give a damn if the men are patrolling around the outside of his house, he will make noises and you will like them. You will, knowing you have the kind of power to turn John into a snivelling wreck of broken moans and hot gasps for air, it gives you all the strength in the world. He has a habit of growling as he fucks you, tense grits of his teeth that you can hear as he pounds you into the mattress and pants into your neck, biting your collar bone and leaving purple marks.

He’s a talker during sex too, so expect some demeaning words and comments. “What a dirty slut you are, taking my cock like you were born for it.” The slapping of your skin followed by oan groans of pleasure as he cups you by the chin and kisses you, whispering against your lips. “You love my cock, don’t you? Let me hear it. Say it.” And the the outright gurgle of pleasure that comes from his throat when you finally say ‘yes.’

**W = Wild Card** (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Since reuniting with his brother’s John Seed wants nothing more than a simple life but doesn’t want to put the work in it. He was raised getting what he wanted with the money he earned. You are no different, his house is no different, his family is no different. He is the one keeping the foundation of Eden’s Gate up with his funds. He doesn’t hold a grudge against his brother’s for this. It’s what family does, it’s what the world does; uses people for what they are worth.

He tries to be a good man, too hard to be the good man that good becomes a twisted and sick version of We Happy Few. 

**X = X-Ray** (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

John is an average build with a decent amount of girth to him but nothing over the top. It’s a dick that gets the job done with gold stars and when you’re with him, it’s a dick that you will happily take down your throat. John is at least 6 inches when fully erect and leans to the left. He has a very sensitive head, circumcised and has a single Frenum piercing that helps add to the sensitivity he has. John likes to be clean down there, so he is well shaven I would even say he uses product to get rid of the hair because the man has balls like eggs, beautifully smooth and fun to suck and play with. You can count on John to always be squeaky clean.

He may not pack as much as Jacob and be vastly underwhelming compared to his oldest brother, but Kohn knows how to make it a good time. John is smart and never forgets your spot, he’s searched it out plenty enough times to know where it is by heart now. And he’s not shy to shove his hand between your legs and fondle you as he plowing into your pussy. He may even go a little extra in say, adding another finger if you still want more.

John’s loads are usually sweet and clean depending on the amount of sex you had recently. He tries not to let lust tempt him into excess but he is just a man after all and you look oh so pretty wearing his cum.

**Y = Yearning** (How high is their sex drive?)

I hope you have stamina because John’s sex drive is high. This man was a party animal in college, a very successful lawyer with his choice for ladies in pencil skirts. After any Baptismal session by the river, even better if they struggle, you will be sore in the morning. This man runs on manic sex and used to have cocaine for breakfast. Not healthy for him or the people around him. Now, all he has left is the mania. Sex is a tipping point for him, a step that needs taking in order to flip the switch back off, after burning the light bulbs hot enough to scar. Think of it this way; he’s already got the car on, might as well go ahead and rev the engine.

**Z = ZZZ** (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

The first thing John does after sex is the clean up. That includes a shower/bath, a wet rag, a towel, something. I also mentioned the man having a lot of stamina so after a single round he may kick back with his sketchbook or just a book in genuine. Back in Uni he would actually do school work. If he is in the mood he will simply lay back and brush his fingers across your skin, give you soft kisses and simply talk with you about things, everything under the stars. He may bounce self doubts off of you or personal thoughts about the Collapse to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I hate that I've made John into the most toxic man of the three. Do not date a John Seed ladies and gentlemen, especially not MY John Seed. John does not love you. In his own fucked up sociopath kind of way, he may think he does but what he will do to you is abuse. He will think the world of you, but he believes the world can be bought. In his mind, you are his. He doesn't need to treat you right, you're already a guarantee. He will set another man on fire in front of you just to prove the point that you should not talk to anyone but him or his family. You cannot go to help. You cannot leave. You dug your grave and John will make sure you lay in it.


End file.
